25 Days of Hurt Sam
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: A collection of Holiday related Hurt Sam stories based on prompts. Requests are closed! Preview for the next installment: "Summer always seemed to bring out the best in Dean and the worst in Sam." *Sequel story date info inside*
1. Chapter 1: Same Old Lang Syne

_**Author's Note: **__Welcome to the 1__st__ annual "25 Days of Hurt Sam" where I write holiday hurt!Sam stories based on prompts given by you! Got a holiday related prompt that you want to see turned into a story? Have a Christmas plot bunny that's bouncing in your brain, but you're too busy to deal with it? Then, you're in the right place. For the month of December and up until New Year's, I will be writing little hurt!Sam stories based on prompts you give me. So, how do you submit a prompt, you ask? It's really simple! Just leave a review with what you would like. Prompts can consist of a word (example: snowflakes), a first line or phrase (example: Sam had always hated ornaments) or a situation (example: Sam falls through thin-ice. Dean and Castiel have to save him). In order for your prompt to be filled, please observe the following ground rules _

_First, I am a Gen author. __**I don't write slash of any kind**__. Sorry! I do accept cannon pairings though._

_ Second, I only write stories T and below. __**Do not give me an M-rated prompt**__. Nothing about rape or lemons or anything like that!_

_ Third, __**Sam must be hurt in this story**__. You can be specific about what you want Sam to endure (example: hypothermia) or you can leave it up to me. Either way, Sam will be the one that gets the brunt of the hurt and someone else will take care of him. _

_ And lastly, requests are fulfilled in the order they are submitted on a first come, first serve basis._

_ So, without further ado, here's the first chapter! I hope you guys enjoy. This song just reminded me of Sam and Jessica. Anyways, this is set in early season 1. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Met my old lover in the grocery store,_

_The snow was falling, Christmas Eve." _

—_Dan Fogelberg—"Same Old Lang Syne"_

* * *

He was burning.

The frozen food aisle felt heavenly on his scorching skin and he was tempted to remain there forever. Dean; however, was waiting for him back at the motel and his brother didn't take kindly to Sam stalling when it came to dinner. It was Christmas Eve in Illinois. Snow gently fell from the darkened sky and _White Christmas _seemed to be on repeat in every grocery store he had been in. Still . . . this was his first Christmas back with his brother in four years. He wanted to make it special. He wanted to make sure he had gotten all of Dean's favorite foods. After all, during Stanford he had been with—

"You make up your mind yet?" He froze, unsure whether he was hearing the feminine voice correctly. "Sam?" The tone was perfect. She had always spoken with an undercurrent of bubbliness and that was one of the first things that had attracted him to her.

"Jess?" He turned around, half-wishing he was wrong and half-praying that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. But no, there she stood—Jessica Moore, dressed in her favorite pink sweater and blue jeans. Her golden hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and little Christmas light earrings dangled from her earlobes. Her eyes held an inquisitive spark in them as her lips curled upwards in a small smile.

"Course," She replied. "Who else would it be?"

Images of a fire filled his mind. A woman burning on the ceiling. Blood dripping down from a cut and Jess screaming and God, no, why would this happen—

"Hey," She touched his sleeve softly, eyes full of concern now. "Are you all right?" He wanted to laugh at that. It had been almost two months since she had died and every night, he relived her death. Every night, he was helpless to save her. He missed her and he was still no closer to finding the demon that took her away from him or his absentee father.

No, Sam Winchester was far from all right.

"Jess, how are you—?" Her slender arm darted past him and reached for the handle. She opened the door and after a quick glance, she pulled out a chicken TV dinner and placed it in the red basket that Sam had brought with him.

"Remember the week before finals last year when you ate like ten of these and nothing else?" Her smile was firmly in place and he wanted nothing more, but to memorize her and commit every detail to memory. He had no idea why she was here—he probably should care about that, being a hunter and all—but for as long as she graced him with her presence, he wasn't going to waste a second.

"I miss you." Sam blurted out. Not a day went by where he didn't think of her. Not a second passed where he didn't wonder what might've been if he had stayed by her side.

"I'll be back once Winter break is over." She promised and he let himself believe her for a few precious seconds. Then with a small grin, she added, "You could come with me, you know. Mom would love to meet you. We could have Christmas dinner together." Sam had forgotten how many times they had had this conversation. Every time December had rolled around, Jessica had tried to convince him to go home with her and meet her family. Sam had always refused though. There was something about Christmas without Dean—without his family—that made him feel like an outsider. He didn't have a place to go home to. He didn't have a father who was proud of him and couldn't wait for him to return to hear about the promising start of his law career.

"I wish I could." He told her honestly, something pricking the back of his eyes. Not tears though. Winchesters never cried.

"Maybe next year." She said softly.

"Maybe." He echoed. They stared at each other for a few more seconds before Sam faced the frozen food section once more.

"Sam?" A different voice questioned, this one distinctively masculine and familiar somehow. The youngest Winchester turned back around, only to find Jessica gone and Dean now in her place. His older brother eyed him oddly. "Dude, I've been calling you for like the past ten minutes." Sam idly glanced at his phone and saw numerous missed calls. Funny, he hadn't even heard his phone ring . . ."Hey, you feeling okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean placed calloused hand on Sam's forehead. It felt like ice and Sam unconsciously leaned into it, savoring the momentary respite from the fire. "Shit."

"What?" He mumbled drowsily, staring at his brother's concerned expression.

"You've got a fever," Without another word, Dean was tugging him to the Impala, all thoughts of TV dinners thrown by the wayside. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" The grocery store dissolved into a blur and before he knew it, Sam was sitting shotgun, a blanket draped over him and a very concerned older brother kneeling in front of him. Dean's green eyes scanned him, cataloging any injuries while simultaneously mapping out a strategy to deal with whatever illness had taken hold of him.

"I didn't feel sick." He had felt like he was warm when he had left, but that had been it. Though, now that he thought about it, he did feel kind of tired and his head was killing him.

"Well, meds and then bedtime for you, Samantha." Dean retorted quietly as he got into the driver's seat. The car started up, the familiar rumble of the engine lulling Sam into a sense of calm. This was his home—this was what he had wanted to come back to during Christmas break.

He drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the car ride. He remembered Dean giving him some medicine before helping him to bed. He recalled waking up after a nightmare and Dean being beside him once again, whispering reassuring litanies that he would deny he spoke in the morning. He took more medicine after that and then slept for a long time.

When he awoke—this time conscious—Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, presents spread out on the surface of it. Sam beamed.

This was home.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy." Dean told him with a rare, unguarded smile.

And yeah, he still had a fever, his girlfriend had been murdered, their father was missing and they weren't any closer to finding the demon that had been the source of all their troubles, but for this moment—this second in time—there was no where else he would've rather been.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, there you go! I hope you enjoyed this little story. I look forward to getting your prompts. Think of this as a Christmas present from me to you. Please review and request if you get a chance! _


	2. Chapter 2: Switched

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks so much for all the feedback. These requests are going to be really fun to write! So, this is for __**AngelicZombieCat**__ who requested, "something switches places with Sam and it takes some time before Dean notices so in the end it's a close call and Dean feels guilty." I really had fun with this! Thank you for the prompt! This is set in mid-season one. Please enjoy!_

* * *

The signs were all there.

The off-handed comments about not being able to find Dad, the sharp rebukes, the downright mean spirited remarks about how Dean had failed in his task of being a hunter and how he was always going to be alone in the end. All cruel things that at the time, Dean believed were the product of his little brother harboring some deep seated resentment over being dragged back into a life he had tried so desperately to escape. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time that Sam had suddenly done a 180 from happy little brother to suddenly furious little brother. In the days after Jessica's death, Sam had been downright nasty in his mood swings. Still . . . it had been a good month since Sam had suffered through a day filled with anger.

"Dad would've never let this happen," Sam hissed as they stood above the remains of what they had belatedly realized were the wrong corpse. "He would've known."

Looking back on it now, he wasn't sure what caused it. Maybe he had just had his fill of his brother's annoying comments. Maybe he knew that deep down Sam was right. Either way, Dean swung his fist so that it connected squarely with Sam's jaw, sending the younger hunter flying back. Stunned, Dean gaped as he saw his little brother stare up at him with disbelief.

"Sam—" He had just hit his little brother, the one person he had sworn to protect.

"So, finally had your fill, Dean? Tired of being Daddy's little perfect soldier?" His little brother's expression twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes filled with anger.

And that's when it all clicked—this wasn't Sam.

Faster than he even knew he was capable of, Dean had the Sam imposter—because that's what it has to be; that's what Dean knows it is—in his grasp and a quick blow to the head rendered it unconscious. Somehow, he dragged the limp form to the Impala and then broke every speed limit on the way back to the motel. When the thing came to, it found itself tied to a chair faced with a silver knife inches from its face.

"Problem?" Dean inquired coolly as he inched the blade closer. The Sam imposter flinched backwards and the older Winchester knew he had his answer. Leaning over the figure, voice deadly, he asked, "Where is my brother?"

"Dead by now." It spat. Without letting the sheer rage overwhelm him, Dean calmly cut the Shifter's arm, ignoring the sounds of pain it made because while this wasn't his brother, it still looked like him.

"I'm not going to ask again," Dean growled. "Where is my brother?" To put further emphasis on his point, he put a matching cut on the Shifter's other arm.

"Okay, okay," It cried. "He's in the abandoned warehouse, outside of town. Now, let me go—"

Dean stuck in the dagger in its heart and waited until the light went out of its eyes before rushing to the Impala.

He had to save his brother.

* * *

It didn't take him much time to reach the warehouse and without stopping to do a through scan of the place, he rushed through the front door, gun at the ready.

"Sam!" His voice bounced off the walls and was met with nothing by sickening silence. "Sammy!" More silence. Dean's head began to spin. Sam couldn't be dead . . . could he? He couldn't be too late! There had to be some mistake or some sort of mix-up—

"M'here." Dean's head darted to where the small voice had muttered. Streaks of moonlight illuminated a figure bounded to a chair.

"Sam." He breathed as he took in his brother's full form. Numerous bruises covered his face, there were two deep gashed on his arms and his white shirt was covered in blood. All in all, it looked like Sam had been beaten that made the blood boil up within Dean. Still, there was no time to be angry. He had to get his brother taken care of. Jogging to Sam's side, Dean quickly untied him and caught his brother's nearly limp form. "Hey, hey, Sammy, stay with me, okay? Stay awake."

"D'n." Sam wheezed and Dean's heart felt constricted by panic. What if he couldn't save Sam? He'd been with the Shifter for at least a few hours and Dean had only noticed the difference between Sam and the Shifter after two days of moody behavior. For two days, Sam could've been bleeding out!

"It's me," Dean promised, hefting his little brother up. "I've got you, okay? You just hang in there, you hear me?"

"Kay." Sam whispered, eyes drooping shut.

"Hey, no sleeping!" Dean called sharply, jolting Sam back into awareness. "Let's just get you to the hospital and then you can sleep, okay?"

But it was no use, Sam's eyes had fallen shut once more. Resolved, Dean carried his brother back to the Impala and drove like a bat out of Hell to the nearest emergency room.

* * *

The nurse that had admitted them shot Dean yet another sympathetic smile. She was an older woman, in her 50's and dressed in festive Christmas lights scrubs. Dean had been so busy hunting and tracking down their MIA father that he had nearly forgotten that Christmas was next week. If Sam—when Sam got out, they were going to celebrate it in a comfortable motel room without the distraction of any hunts.

"I'm sorry about this, honey," The Nurse—Nancy—soothed. "The doctor should be coming out to talk to you any second."

Dean nodded, too stunned to speak. He had heard the doctors shout for help, called for a defibrillator because, hey, Sam's heart had chosen that precise moment to stop. Ever since that, Sam had been behind closed doors and no one had come to speak to Dean.

What if Sam was dead?

What if Sam never—

"Family of Sam Matthews?" Dean rose from his seat and the doctor nodded in his direction before walking over.

"How is he?" Dean questioned, voice brimming with fear.

"Well, he lost a lot of blood and went into shock," The doctor explained. "But he's stable now and he's responding well to transfusions." The doctor smiled. "Barring any complications, he should make a full recovery." Then, he pushed open the doors and Dean nodded before going in to see Sam.

"D'n." Sam's eyes were a bit unfocused and laced with pain, but he was coherent and alive, which was pretty damn good if you asked Dean.

"Hey there, Sammy." He sat on a chair the farthest away from his brother. After all, this had been his fault. Sam had to be mad at him. If he had only noticed sooner—"Whoa, Sam, what are you doing?" In the few seconds that Dean had been wallowing in guilt, his brother had somehow managed to sit up and nearly pass out from the effort. Instantly, Dean's hands were on him, gently pushing him down.

"Too far." Sam wheezed and Dean eyed him oddly. Sam glared at him and pointedly glanced at the space between Dean's chair and the bedside.

"But Sam, I . . ." His voice faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say. Chick-flick moments had always been more of Sam's forte.

"Dean." He said it with perfect clarity and then, without saying anything else, let his hand reach towards Dean. He waited, patiently, for his brother to lace his hand with his, as if it was perfectly normal.

"Sam—" He attempted to protest, but Sam sighed and then scooted himself as close to the bedside railing as he could. It brought a smile to Dean's lips as a memory of a clingy ten-year-old Sam filled his mind. Whenever he had been scared, Sam had always needed physical contact. It was as if it was his way of finding his way out of the nightmare of whatever had scared him.

"Dean." Sam tried to muster up the annoyance that he must've felt in his tone, but it came across as exhausted. He shook his hand and waited. With a small sigh, Dean allowed his hand to be held by his brother.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"Don't."

"Sam—"

"Not your fault." Sam interjected, eyes drooping close. "S'okay, D'n."

And with that, absolution was granted with a simple gesture of handholding. Sure, physical contact wasn't his "thing" per-se, but Dean had a horrible habit of refusing anything that Sam asked of him.

And, if he were really honest with himself, Dean knew that this time, the physical contact wasn't for Sam's sake alone.

It was for Dean's as well.

"Night, Sam."

* * *

_** Author's Note: **__Okay, there we go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review/request if you have a moment! _


	3. Chapter 3: Christmas Spirit

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, this is for __**Shannanigans**__, who asked for "too much bottled holiday cheer, hurt, embarrassed Sam". I hope this is what you were looking for! This is set sometime after "Everybody Loves a Clown" and for the sake of this piece, we'll just pretend that episode took place in December, okay? Please enjoy! _

* * *

"_I can't figure you out._

_Is this what Christmas is about?_

'_Cause it's a broken heart_

_That you're giving me." _

—_Reliant K, "I Hate Christmas Parties"_

* * *

They hadn't spoken in what felt like weeks, but Sam knew was only in reality a few days. He had thought he had gotten through to Dean after that disastrous hunt with the killer clowns—Sam shuddered just even thinking about them—but it would appear that the Holiday season had once again taken his brother back to his grief. And yeah, Sam understood why, though heaven knew that Christmas had never been a big deal for their dad. Half of the time, John hadn't even been in town for Christmas. It usually was just a time where Sam and Dean exchanged mostly stolen gifts and smiled at their crappy excuse of a tree.

Still, it was those Christmases that he had loved the most. It was those Christmases that he had longed for while at Stanford. Jessica had tried, in vain, to get him to come home with her for the Winter break, but Sam had always refused. He had spent his Christmases in school, staring out the window and wishing for a familiar black car to rumble into town. He often wondered now, if Dean had felt like he had. Had he wanted Sam back for Christmas too?

Well, it didn't matter now. They were back together and that's what mattered. Sure, one of them was in a whole I'm-going-crazy-with-grief-but-don't-help-me-or-I'll-kill-you funk, but Sam was doing okay. The guilt gnawed at him constantly, the what-ifs raced through his mind; but overall, he was doing okay.

As okay as one could be with a dead father and a mad-with-grief brother.

Sam sighed.

Okay, so he wasn't doing as well as he could be.

It was Christmas Eve and Dean had left for God knew where, leaving Sam to his own devices. He had made it very clear that he did not want to talk about Dad and no, he had no idea when he would be back so just shut the fuck up, would you, Sam? Bobby had run out to do a simple salt-and-burn a few towns over, but promised that he would return in time to celebrate Christmas with the boys.

Which left Sam alone in a much too quiet house.

Growing up, he had learned that silence was never a good sign. Silence meant death. Silence meant fear. Silence meant that you were alone and no one was going to watch your back. It scared him and quickly, he flicked on Bobby's ancient television. A jazz version of "The Christmas Song" filled the room and the youngest Winchester settled slightly. He sat down on the well-worn couch and wondered briefly what to do. Idly, he played with his hands and let his gaze drift and a pile of books caught his eye. Relieved to have something to distract himself with, he stood up and headed over to the stack of books. Sitting down, he flipped the first one open and let his eyes scan it, happy to have something to lose himself in.

* * *

God, he hated bars on Christmas Eve.

For one thing, there was always too much holiday cheer. People were smiling and laughing, even with strangers. He felt like a fish out of water in the bar with its cheerful holiday music and twinkling lights. Besides, he wasn't in a happy Christmassy mood. Ever since his dad had died—died to save him—and told him what he had to do, Dean had felt nothing but rage and despair. Rage, because who the hell told their child that they would either have to save their younger sibling or kill them and grief, because their dad had died in order to save him. It was his fault—all of this—and Dean downed the rest of his beer.

"Oh, Stacy!" A blonde, busty, extremely attractive woman exclaimed as she helped dab a stain off her brunette pal's dress. "Think you've had a bit too much bottled holiday cheer. Better give it a rest, okay?" Her eyes met Dean and she grinned seductively. Her eyes flashed with a clear "come hither" stare. If he stuck around, he would definitely be able to hook up with her. But . . . Christmas had always been his and Sam's thing and avoiding the kid wasn't going to solve anything. It was simple really actually. He would save Sam—there wasn't any other option. Sam wasn't going to die under his watch. It would be a cold day in Hell before Dean let that happen.

Mind made up, Dean placed some bills on the counter before heading outside. It was Christmas Eve and he knew where he was supposed to be. But first things first, he would have to get some presents.

* * *

"Shit," Sam hissed as he pressed down on the bleeding wound he had managed to inflict on himself while cleaning the new knife he had bought Dean a few states back. He had bought it such a long time ago, that he had almost forgotten about it until he had read one of Bobby's books about hunting Shifters. How he had managed to hurt himself with it . . . well, it was stupid really. He had been distracted—had let his mind wander—and had somehow caused the blade to slice him. "Great, Sam, just great." Because, not only did he have a cut that stung like hell, but also Dean's blade was now a shade redder than Sam had intended.

The key jostled in the lock and Sam froze. He hadn't even expected his brother back until late tomorrow, let alone 10:00pm tonigh. Frantically, he tossed the knife under one of the books and ducked into the bathroom. If Dean saw the blood, he would snap at Sam and the last thing he needed was yet another sharp rebuke from already constantly angry brother.

"Sam?" Dean called and Sam tilted his head to the side in confusion. Dean wasn't drunk which was odd. Usually, he went to the bar and drank himself into a stupor and then woke up with a nasty hangover, which left Sam walking on eggshells until noon. What could've caused the deviation in Dean's pattern? "Sammy?" More urgent, an undercurrent of worry in it—a tone Sam hadn't heard in quite a long time.

"Bathroom." Sam replied and he could practically hear Dean's sigh of relief. There was the sound of something hit the table and then the distinct clanging of something metal on the ground. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he waited. Maybe it was something else? He was about to breathe when the bathroom door burst open and his brother stormed in, bloody blade in his hand, eyes full of sheer concern and fear.

"Sam—" God, Sam had missed that side of him. He had missed his big brother with all of his mother hen tendencies. He had missed his brother taking care of him. Hell, he had even missed Dean's stupid jokes.

"It was an accident," Sam replied shakily, trying to hide the bleeding arm behind him. It was stupid after all and he knew Dean knew that. They had been taught from an early age to always be careful when handling weapons, to always keep your mind focused. Sam had broken that rule and he didn't need his brother to remind him of that. "M'okay."

"Let me see." Dean held his hand out, waiting. Sam eyed him oddly. Embarrassed, he shook his head. He wasn't a baby—he could handle this.

"Dean, I—"

"Sam," His older brother's tone was full of no-nonsense. It was strong and sure and reminded him so much of his dad. "Let me see." Reluctantly, Sam allowed his brother to inspect the wound and remained silent as Dean scanned every inch of him, checking for any other injuries. Confident that the cut was the only one, Dean nodded and grabbed the bandage Sam had placed by the sink. Then, while softly humming Metallica, he wrapped the white gauze around the injury and secured the bandage in place. "All done." Dean shot him a grin.

"You're not mad?" Sam asked, cautiously.

"Mad?" Dean echoed, confusion lacing his tone. "For what?"

"Christo." Sam said suddenly and then when Dean's eyes remained their green color, he grinned. This was his older brother—this was the Dean he had missed, that had been buried so far in grief that Sam hadn't been sure if he would ever reach him again.

"What the—?" Dean began, but Sam just chuckled.

"Hey, you wanna watch a crappy Christmas movie?"

"Sure, Samantha," His older brother answered with a smirk. "I know how much you love those cheesy Hallmark movies."

"Shut up." Sam retorted, though there was no heat in the words.

"We can do presents tonight too," Dean added. "I mean, if you want—"

"Yeah." Sam whispered, sheer relief coursing through him. Dean was back. Dean was okay.

"Okay, well, I'm sure Bobby's got some eggnog somewhere so you get that and I'll get the movie." Sam nodded and watched with wide-eyed wonder as his older brother left the bathroom and vanished into the living room. He glanced down at the bandage and grinned. It seemed Dean had pulled himself out of grief after all.

Maybe there was hope for them after all.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned out to have a lot more angst than I had anticipated, but I really like the way it turned out. I hope you did too! Please review/request if you have a second. Thanks! _


	4. Chapter 4: Tumbling Down

_**Author's Note: **__So, I've been getting a lot of questions about this story so I thought I'd take a moment to answer a few questions. All right, so here's my policy on taking more than one prompt from the same author. For the sake of being fair to everyone else, I will not do another prompt from the same author until I have done all the other prompts. So, I may get to it or I may not—it all depends on how many other prompts I have to do. Another question was whether I only accepted 25 prompts as this story is called "25 Days of Hurt Sam" and the answer is no, I accept prompts after I reach 25. That being said, I will eventually close this story to requests as I plan for this story to be here until New Years. While it's called "25 Days of Hurt Sam" this story is really a Holiday season story. I will continue until New Years to fulfill all the prompts. I won't; however, be accepting prompts after Christmas. So, if you have a request, submit it before Christmas! And finally, __**Shannanigans**__, I'm sorry I didn't throw any drunk Sam in your story! I will be sure to throw that in in an upcoming story, okay? That being said, please be specific in your requests! If you want Sam to be something (like drunk or sick, etc.) please tell me! I'd hate to disappoint anyone! _

_ Okay, onto today's prompt! __**Lucydolly22**__ initially requested two different things and let me choose which one to do. As I really dislike the Roadhouse, I went with her second prompt, which was, "Sam is caught in a landslide". I also throw in some elements from her first prompt. This is set after "Nightshifter". I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

What's worse than being hunted by nearly every branch of law enforcement? Being hunted by nearly every part of law enforcement and not being able to take your bleeding, unconscious, possibly dying little brother to a hospital because of said branches of law enforcement. Oh, and throw in it being a week until Christmas in there and them being in God knew where in the middle of a forest in California.

"Sam, next year for Christmas," Dean muttered as he took another few steps towards the Impala. "We are going to Las Vegas. Think about it, Sammy? Women, beers, poker—good times, right?" He glanced down at his brother's ashen face and sobered up slightly. Sam was in bad shape, that much was obvious. With their newfound status on being probably public enemy #1 on the FBI's most wanted list, there was no way he could risk taking him to a hospital. Still, Sam had lost so much blood already . . .

It had been a simple hunt. Straightforward, obvious—just what they needed to get back into the swing of things after the disastrous incident with the shifter—and they had even managed to kill the vampire before midnight, which was pretty damn good. Dean had been feeling pretty good, Sam had been laughing and smiling and for once, not looking so pensive and withdrawn. The night had been shaping up to be a good one.

And then Sam had run out in front of him, challenging him to a race.

"Jeez, dude, what are you? Five?" Dean had retorted, but he prepared to begin to run anyways.

"Last one there has to—" There had been a sickening crack as the ground underneath his brother had suddenly vanished down the side of the hill. Sam reached out towards Dean and Dean might've said something, though he couldn't remember now what it might've been. Sam vanished in a blur of mud and rock as he swept down the hill.

And then as fast as it had occurred, all was silent.

Too silent.

Dean had found his brother, covered in mud, head bleeding up against a tree. Sam briefly roused, long enough to try to get himself up and report to his older brother that his head was killing him before promptly passing out.

Which led to now, with Dean carrying his brother back to the only home they had ever truly known—the Impala. Easing his brother into the front seat, Dean rushed to the driver's seat and quickly drove back onto the main road and headed back to their motel room, all while maintaining one hand on Sam's pulse point. It was weak, but still there and for that much, Dean was grateful. Getting him into the room was a bit of a challenge, but once he had Sam down on the bed, years of training came into play. First things first, he had to figure out what he was dealing with and what he would do if Sam needed a hospital's care. While he wouldn't hesitate taking his little to the local ER if that's what his brother required, it would definitely lead to a trip to the local police station.

But, he was thinking to far ahead. It was time to go back to basics.

With a gentleness that few ever got to see, Dean removed his brother's jacket and grimaced at the crimson spot pooling on Sam's side. Upon closer inspection, he was relieved to see that it was just a deep cut. It would need stiches, but the bleeding was already starting to slow down. There were numerous small cuts and the beginnings of a nasty bruise on Sam's arm, but all in all it could've been a lot worse.

"D'n?" Muddy, unfocused eyes stared up at him.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted with a small smile, relieved to see the kid awake. "How you feeling?"

"Head hurts." He whispered, wincing at the sound of a truck rumbling by.

"Well, that's what happens when you decide to cheat during a race." Sam's face showed no signs of comprehension and Dean sighed. "You got caught in a landslide, dude." A spark flashed in his little brother's eyes.

"The rain . . ." His voice trailed off, leaving Dean to interpret the rest. Looking back on it now, it had been stupid to go climb up a hill after three days of hard rain. Still, it was one of the hazards of their job. It wasn't like the vampire they had been hunting would've said, "Oh, I understand. I'll stop killing people for a few days so you can be safe from landslides."

"Yeah. That's what I figured too." He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. It had been close, but Sam was okay.

"Hurts." Sam whimpered and Dean shot him a sympathetic smile.

"I know, dude, I know," He mumbled as he pulled out the needle and thread. Placing them aside, he pulled out some pain pills. It wouldn't make the pain go away completely, but it would take the edge off and help Sam get some sleep. "Here, take these." He offered him the pills and a glass of water and his little brother obediently swallowed them.

With that, Dean steeled himself and watched Sam do the same.

"Just do it." Sam mumbled and Dean nodded, threading the needle.

Then, he began to stitch.

* * *

Sam drunk was pretty fun.

Sam on drugs? Freakin' hilarious. For the past 30 minutes, Dean had been watching his younger sibling prattle on about how yellow watermelons with stripes were the best and how he should be careful when dealing with kittens.

"They like to lie, D'n." His brother slurred and Dean suppressed a chuckle of laughter.

"Yeah, I bet they do, Sammy." Dean replied, like a good big brother. Occasionally, Sam's face flickered with pain, but it seemed like the pills had done their job and Dean was pleased to see that his little brother was in better shape than he had expected. It had been a close call, yeah, but everything was okay now.

And for tonight, Dean wouldn't have picked any other place to be.

But as soon as Sam was well enough, they were going to Vegas. Maybe they could make it to Reno by Christmas Eve?

"D'n?"

"Yeah, Sam?" His little brother smiled unabashedly at him, much like a toddler version of Sam had used to do.

"I love you." The remark stunned the older brother for a few seconds. Those three words hadn't been spoken for at least, five years. It had been implied in everything they did, but they never said it out loud. It was an unspoken rule. Apparently, drug-addled Sam was playing by a different rulebook. Besides, it wasn't like he would remember any of this in the morning anyways, right?

Dean grinned.

"Love you too, Sam."

Sam beamed.

And wouldn't you know it? Dean was starting to believe that they weren't as screwed as he thought them to be. Maybe, with Sam by his side, they could get through this—

No, they would definitely get through this.

No doubts about it.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And there you go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review/request if you have a second! _


	5. Chapter 5: Early Morning Call

_**Author's Note: **__To answer another question, yes, I'll combine the prompt of Jack-o-Lantern with my promise to include some drunken Sam. Please look forward to that! Today's prompt comes from __**judyann**__, who asked for "one Christmas Sam gets very sick and no John around and maybe Dean panics a bit not being able to reach him. Then maybe Bobby could come in and save the day." I really liked this prompt! Plus, who doesn't love a heroic Bobby? Sam is eight here and Dean is 12. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams." _

—_Bing Crosby, "I'll be Home for Christmas"_

* * *

"_We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is currently out of service. Please try again—" _Dean slammed the phone down, panic and anger rushing through him. It was Christmas Eve and though their father had promised to be home in time for Christmas morning, it appeared that the hunt was taking much longer than John had anticipated. Normally, that would be fine. After all, it hadn't been the first time that they had been left alone for a long period of time. Hunts—even the straightforward ones—could take weeks. Their dad had to do research and then track whatever the thing was before finally killing it and returning home. Dean knew the drill by heart—_Look after Sam, stay inside, and don't do anything stupid_—and he was good at taking care of Sam.

But, Sam was sick tonight.

Not just-a-cold sick, but face-ashen-skin-clammy-almost-dead-looking sick and it was scaring the hell out of Dean. His little brother stared up at him with unfocused, fever glazed eyes.

"Daddy coming?" Sam voice was hoarse and Dean had to strain to hear it even though he was only standing a few feet away.

"No." Dean replied, not having the heart to lie to the kid, not on Christmas Eve.

"Dean." With that one word, Sam conveyed his feelings of fear and worry. Plastering a fake smile on his face, the older brother returned to his little brother's side. Gently taking the damp washcloth off of Sam's forehead and dipping it back in the water, Dean silently freaked out. Their father wasn't coming back tonight and Dean had no one else to turn to. Sam had never gotten this sick before and the worried older brother was seriously entertaining the idea of calling an ambulance. A fever of 103.9 couldn't be a sign of anything good to come, especially when said fever refused to go down even after copious amounts of medicine.

"We'll be okay, Sammy." Dean assured him, dabbing the beads of sweat off his brother's forehead before placing the washcloth back. Sam's too hot hand slipped into Dean's and the little brother squeezed it, looking for strength and for something to anchor him through this scary time.

"Promise?" Sam wheezed.

"Promise."

And Dean never broke his promises—not when it came to Sam.

* * *

The call had come at 2:35 in the morning, startling Bobby awake. Growling a curse, he groped blindly in the darkness before finally grabbing the phone and placing it to his ear.

"Singer."

"_Uncle Bobby?" _The child's voice instantly snapped Bobby awake. He sat up and flicked the lights on.

"Dean?" Bobby questioned, instantly worried because the only reason Dean would be talking to him at 2:35 in the morning was if something was hurt. The poor boy had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was practically 12 going on 45 with the way he raised his little brother. John's grief had clouded him when it came to raising his sons, something that Dean tried to remedy.

"_Uncle Bobby," _Dean's frightened voice continued. _"It's Sam." _

Dread filled the pit of the gruff hunter's stomach. There was only one other person Dean cared about more than his father and that was little brother. In Dean's eyes, Sam could do no wrong. Sam was the center of Dean's universe and if something had happened to him—

"What about Sam, Dean?" Bobby asked, darting out of the bed and grabbing his duffel and car keys off the bedside table.

"_He won't wake up." _The elder Winchester whispered, utterly terrified. The dread in Bobby's stomach escalated to sheer panic. Still, he had to remain calm. Panicking would only worry Dean more and last was the last thing Dean needed.

"Is he breathing, Dean?"

"_Yeah, his pulse is weird, but it's still there." _Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good, now where are you boys? Somewhere safe?" Dean prattled off their location and told Bobby how John went off the grid. He explained how the illness had come on suddenly yesterday and how the fever continued to climb despite Dean's best efforts to quell it. By the end of the conversation, Dean's voice was shaking and Bobby wished he were there in order to comfort the scared child. That's what Dean was in reality—though he tried to act otherwise. He was just a 12-year-old kid who was in over his head dealing with a job that he should've never been assigned to begin with. Still, such was life.

"_I don't know what to do." _Dean confessed.

"Alright, listen to me, Dean," Bobby began. "I'm on my way. You stay put and keep an eye on Sam's heart rate. If it stops, you call 9-1-1, you hear?"

"_Yes, sir." _Came the obedient reply.

"Good. I'll be there in an hour."

With that he hung up, got in his truck and then drove like a bat out of Hell. Those two boys were counting on him right now.

* * *

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean soothed as Bobby entered the motel room. The elder Winchester spun around, gun in hand. Seeing who it was, he breathed and lowered it. "Uncle Bobby." There was such tenderness in the young boy's tone that Bobby smiled softly. He had forgotten what it felt like—to be needed by someone. Sure, he helped hunters across the country, but that was always impersonal. The Winchester boys . . . well, Bobby viewed them practically as his own kin. He had watched them both grow up and had seem them begin to come into their own as people. Sam was the quiet, studious one who occasionally was mischievous and Dean was the one who put on an act of bravado to those around him and dropped the façade only for Sam. They had a bond beyond normal siblings and Bobby often wondered how their bond would affect them as they grew up. Would it hinder them or would it only make them stronger?

"Dean," Bobby greeted. "How is he?" Dean stepped away from the bed and the gruff hunter nearly flinched. Sam looked simply awful to put it mildly. He was deathly still, his face was ashen and the rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable. No wonder Dean had panicked and called Bobby. The boy was way in over his head.

"He still won't wake up." The older hunter nodded before palming the youngest Winchester's forehead. It was too damn hot and Bobby cursed.

"C'mon," Bobby said with a sigh. "We've got a date with the E.R."

* * *

"And then, Sammy, you almost fell into the river!" Dean exclaimed as he laid with his sibling on the hospital bed and recounted the story of how toddler Sam had wandered off into a forest once long ago. "You were lucky I was there because Dad would've killed you if he had found out."

"S'not true, D'n," Sam mumbled tiredly, appearing much better. "Made that up." Dean faked an expression of mock hurt.

"Dude, would I lie to you?"

"Yeah." Sam retorted. "You lied to me last week about what happened to my sandwich—"

"Told you I was hungry, Sammy."

Bobby chuckled to himself. Turned out that Sam had come down with a particularly nasty case of the flu and the boy had become severely dehydrated as the fever ran its course. The doctor had hooked him up to an IV and gotten the fever to break.

"He should be released by tonight," The doctor had explained with a smile. "Your nephew is pretty strong to have beaten such a difficult illness so quickly."

"Yeah, that's my boy." Bobby had replied, feeling pride and happiness fill him. It had been years since he had belonged to a family, but these Winchester boys . . . well, they were starting to get under his skin. The Bobby after Karen's death would've never rushed to a kid's bedside. These boys were thawing his heart and honestly, he didn't mind. He had been in his grief for so many years. It felt good to realize that there were other things to life besides anger and the desire for revenge. If only John could figure that out before it was too late . . .

"Uncle Bobby?" Sam's eyes had met his gaze and Bobby leaned in to listen to the boy's raspy voice. "Merry Christmas."

"Not exactly the way he pictured spending it." Dean mumbled, but Bobby shook his head.

"That's true," Bobby replied. "But there's no place I'd rather be." Sam grinned—a pure unabashed smile—and Bobby found himself beaming back. Dean chuckled and launched into the next story while Sam occasionally interjected, telling Dean what had really happened in the story. Bobby leaned back and watched the two brothers contentedly.

One thing was sure, John didn't know what the hell he was missing out on and as soon as he returned from his hunt, Bobby intended to let him know.

The gruff hunter smirked.

Who could ask for a better Christmas present?

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I love Bobby's relationship with the boys. I hope you enjoyed this piece! Please review/request if you have a moment! _


	6. Chapter 6: Bang!

_**Author's Note: **__Today's prompt is from __**Colby's girl**__ who requested, "snowplow". I went back and forth with what I should do with this prompt, but I loved the way it came out and I hope you do too. Set in season 5 with some Castiel thrown in, just for fun!_

* * *

"You're kidding." Dean hissed, voice dripping in annoyance. Sam just sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I wish I was dude," Sam replied. "But the snowplows won't get here until tomorrow—that's when the storm should end." His older brother groaned and flopped on the bed, arms spread wide as the bed shook beneath him.

"Crap."

Sam chuckled dryly and narrowly avoided a pillow that was hurled at him with startling force.

"You were the one who had to take the case in Colorado three days before Christmas." He pointed out, to which Dean cursed underneath his breath. "Hey, it's just one more day—"

"One more day stuck in this deadbeat town that turned out to have a group of pranksters instead of a ghost." Sam winched in sympathy. Dean had been psyched about taking this case. He said it was "simple and straightforward" which was just what they needed in this impending apocalypse. Turned out that the supposedly haunted house was really just a bunch of kids with too much time on their hands and way too much money to burn.

"Could be worse." The youngest Winchester replied, advancing to the window. Outside, snow fell gracefully to the ground. Children danced around, tossing snowballs and laughing. It was like the set of the perfect Christmas-time Hallmark movie and an image that Sam had used to dream about when he had been younger.

And he had been the one to damn it all.

All at once, guilt rushed within him as he thought about all the atrocities he had committed and how he had to atone for the sins he had committed. He had doomed this world and if he couldn't fix it, these children wouldn't live to see Christmas next year.

"Sam?" Dean was sitting up now, on the edge of the bed, eyeing him curiously. "You okay?" He turned away from the window and nodded, mouth open to reply when—

_Bang._

There was a moment of confusion as Sam glanced down at his shirt, crimson blood beginning to dye his white shirt a sickly shade of red. His eyes widened and he met Dean's worried gaze.

"D'n." He wheezed. His knees buckled and Dean was there, holding him up by the front of his jacket.

"Sammy, hey, Sam?" His older brother's voice was panicked; his eyes were locked on the wound that continued to bleed profusely. "I've got you, hey, it's okay, Sammy? You stay awake, okay?" It was all too familiar to another place, another time. Sam had fallen back then and Dean had held him, whispering reassurances that he couldn't keep—much like now.

"Sorry." His eyes were drooping and the world was growing fuzzier. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. His heartbeat thudded between his ears and he could no longer make out what his older brother was saying. It appeared like he was calling for someone, but Sam wasn't sure.

And then, he let his eyes close and fell into the darkness.

* * *

When he came to, Castiel's face was hovering literally an inch above Sam's. Startled, Sam gasped and Castiel instantly backed away. The angel smiled apologetically before returning to the bedside chair that he had been sitting in.

"Cas?" His voice was as rough as sandpaper and he coughed, feeling sore, but no sharp pain surprisingly. Even more surprisingly though, Dean was not in the room—that was odd. "D'n?" He coughed more severely and Castiel awkwardly handed him a glass of water with a bended straw in it. Grateful, Sam drank it up greedily, relishing the cool flow of the liquid on his throat.

"Your brother is surveying the area." Sam eyed him, confused and Castiel bit his bottom lip nervously and glanced away.

"Where is he really?" Caught in a lie, the angel did not attempt to cover up any further.

"He's looking for who did this to you." Sam cursed and began to sit up, wincing as pain flared in his chest. Castiel was instantly by his side, hands gently, but firmly pushing him down.

"Sam," Castiel interjected sharply, eyes hardened with determination. "I was only able to heal the worst of you injuries. You are still recovering—" Sam batted the angel's hands away and forced himself to his feet. The dizziness overwhelmed him, but he blinked it back and forced himself to put on his coat. "This is ill-advised."

"Where did he go?" Sam questioned, ignoring the angel's warnings because he couldn't let Dean do this. He wouldn't let his brother do something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

"I am not sure." Castiel replied and Sam nodded to himself.

He had better get started.

* * *

Castiel insisted that he come along as he had been left as Sam's caretaker and he felt that it was only right that he make sure that Sam came to no further harm. In the end, Sam had agreed partly because he knew he needed help to move around, but also because he was grateful for the angel's company and support. In this world where practically every hunter hated him—with two notable exceptions—it was nice to know that he had other friends that cared.

"Sam, you look pale—" Castiel informed him, eyes flashing with concern.

"We have to find him, Cas." Sam mumbled, exhaustion starting to wash over him. His breath was coming in fits and he was light-headed. Still, he couldn't stop. He had to find Dean before he—

"Dean." Castiel's voice was soft, but Sam jerked to a stop. Dean had a man pushed up against an alleyway wall. His eyes were burning with rage and Sam could see that the man was a bit worse for wear. Sam recognized him as another hunter and it didn't take long to put the pieces together. Freeing Lucifer had put him on a lot of hunter's hit lists. It wasn't really a shock that someone would try to kill him. Sam had been expecting it actually. Still, while he deserved this hatred, he had never wanted Dean put into the mix.

"You son of a bitch—" Dean growled murderously, arm angling back, ready to punch.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and his brother's eyes were instantly on his. The green emeralds softened, the fury shifting into relief and concern. "Don't."

"He tried to—" His older brother snapped.

"I know!" Sam answered. "S'not worth it, man. You'll just give them another reason to try this again." Though it went against everything his older brother stood for—not destroying the man that had dared to kill his little brother—Sam could see the logic of his argument winning Dean older. Silently, the eldest Winchester dropped the other hunter and returned to Sam's side.

"Cas." The angel nodded at Dean's silent order. The Messenger of the Lord headed to the shocked hunter's side and raised two fingers and pressed them onto his forehead. A light flashed and then the hunter slumped forward, unconscious.

"He won't remember a thing." Castiel told the eldest Winchester.

"Good." Dean replied. Then, his attention turned to Sam as he gripped his brother's arms to steady him. "Jesus, Sam, you're about to fall over."

"M'okay, D'n." Sam murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

"Sam, you were shot—" He growled, fury still evident. Sam understood. It had been a close call and heaven knew that Sam could relate. He had been in Dean's shoes before.

"M'okay _now_, D'n." Sam insisted, making sure his brother comprehended what he was saying before giving into to the pain and weariness that overtook him.

"You're good, Sam," Dean whispered, arms encircling him. "I've got you."

He let himself go.

* * *

When he came to, Dean was by his side, green eyes scanning him and checking for any hidden injuries. Seeing his protective older brother, Sam grinned. It had been so long since Dean had acted this way towards him. It gave him hope that they could beat Lucifer together.

"Dude, go back to sleep." His older brother ordered gently, smirk on his lips. Behind Dean, Sam could see Castiel reading what looked like to be a car magazine that the angel no doubt, hoped would help him connect to humanity. Sam stifled a chuckle and let himself embrace this moment.

Sure, he had been shot and almost died, but he had survived. That had to count for something, right? He had Dean and he had Cas—he wasn't alone in this fight.

"Samantha, seriously," Dean chided. "Stop thinking."

Yeah, Sam had no doubt.

Lucifer and Michael didn't stand a chance.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And there you go! I really liked this one! I hope you enjoyed as well! Please review and request! _


	7. Chapter 7: Cold

_**Author's Note: 3DBABE1999**__, please don't worry! I haven't forgotten about your prompt! As I explained at the beginning of this story, prompts are fulfilled on a first come, first serve basis. There are some other people in front of you, but rest assured, I will fulfill your prompt! In the end, I will get around to everyone's prompts! Please hang in there! Today's prompt is from __**Sara **__who requested, "Sam falls through thin ice". This one was really fun to write! I hope you enjoy! This is set after "Everyone Loves a Clown"._

* * *

"_It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down trees_

_They're putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace_

_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on."_

—_Sarah McLachlan, "River"_

* * *

In hindsight, it had been stupid.

Wandering around by a frozen lake with no exact idea where their current target was, unprepared to face it even if they did find it? Their father would've called it "reckless and stupid". Hell, Sam had practically said those exact words when Dean had first unveiled the pathetic excuse of a plan. Still, he went out with his older brother, though looking back on it now, Dean wondered if it was more to keep an eye on him rather than to find the local monster. John had been nothing more than ashes for close to a month now and the anger over his last words and the grief over losing his mentor still consumed him. Sam knew it—tried to get him to open up on numerous occasions, only to be shut down. To be honest, Dean didn't really care if this was reckless. He felt like he was dying inside and the cold wind that bit into him actually felt like a nice change.

"Dean, we should go back," Sam murmured, shivering slightly even under his two jackets. Colorado in December would do that to you though. "The sun's setting man. We need to—"

But Dean ignored him and trudged on, wishing that for once Sam would just shut up and stop trying to be reasonable. That had always been the main difference between him and Sam. Dean had been one to lead with his gut, while Sam had always had to think things out. He hadn't realized he stepped onto a lake, until Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop.

"What?" He snapped, wishing Sam would stop looking at him because dammit, how could Sam ever go so far off the ledge that Dean would have to kill him? How was this fair to him? He couldn't kill Sam—he wouldn't kill Sam. Hadn't John known that?

"We need to turn back," His younger brother spoke urgently, eyes sweeping the area. "This ice—"

The next few moments were a blur. One second Sam had been by his side and the next he had vanished in a flash. The noise of the ice cracking beneath him dimly registered as he frantically reached for his brother, only to disturb the ice even more. Cracks suddenly sprung up and Dean reigned in the panic that was consuming him in order to get a grip on the situation. Moving suddenly would just make matters worse. Sam, for his part, had gripped the edge of the ice and was trying—in vain—to pull himself up. The ice was breaking up; however, and soon he was treading water.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean tried to soothe him, slowly testing each step before placing his full weight on it. He wouldn't do Sam any good if he too fell through. Sam shivered violently as he nodded his head. The eldest Winchester inched closer until he finally gripped Sam's dripping wet arm and yanked him out. "You with me?" Sam nodded his head, shaking all the while. Dean nodded and then carefully maneuvered both himself and his brother back onto the snow. The Impala wasn't far—thanks in part to Sam's stubbornness when Dean had wanted to park it at the dirt trail a mile away—and he hauled his brother to his feet and began walking quickly.

"D'n." Sam's teeth clattered together and Dean winched in sympathy.

"Don't worry," Dean reassured him. "I've got you."

They continued to walk.

* * *

Overall, they had been lucky.

Sam had been in the water long enough to gain a nasty cough, but there had been no signs of hypothermia and after getting him into some warm clothes and under a heating blanket, his little brother had improved greatly. He was dozing now—for once, devoid of nightmares—and though Dean himself was tired, he couldn't let himself relax just yet. He had placed Sam in danger—had nearly gotten the one person he had sworn to protect killed—because he had been too blinded by grief and rage. He had been reckless and had almost lost it all.

That was unacceptable.

Sam shifted in the bed, murmuring something and Dean carded his hand through his little brother's hair. This calmed him and soon he was sleeping peacefully once again. How could Sam go evil? That made no sense whatsoever! Why had their father said such a thing? There were so many questions and the one that had the answers had taken the answers with him to the grave.

"D'n?" Murky eyes met his and he smiled softly.

"S'okay, Sammy." He soothed. "Go back to sleep." His brother still seemed to sense his distress for he patted Dean's hand awkwardly before exhaustion getting the best of him.

"M'okay." Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Dean replied, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "You are."

Sam wouldn't go evil because Dean wouldn't allow it—it was that simple. If the demon had plans for Sam, well it would have to go through him. There was nothing he wouldn't give to protect Sam, nothing he wouldn't sacrifice if it meant keeping him safe. In the end, if it came down to his life or Sam's, the choice was obvious. He had lived without Sam before—he wouldn't do it again.

"I promise you," He murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll keep you safe."

And he meant it.

Demon didn't stand a chance.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Hope you enjoyed it! Please review and request if you have a second! _


	8. Chapter 8: Sammy, the Snowman

_**Author's Note: **__I'm so psyched to show you guys this chapter. The prompt comes from __**Leahelisabeth**__, who requested, "Dean comes home to Sam's jacket flung over a chair, his shoes by the door, his cellphone and wallet on the bedside table, but no little brother. Also, there is a Brand-new 6'4" snowman standing on the edge of the parking lot._ _Interpret that however you want, so long as there is schmoop and cuddling." I won't lie, I totally got super excited to do this when I first read this prompt. I spent a lot of time on it and I hope it came out the way you wanted it. Thanks for submitting it! Let's just say this is set in season 1, okay? Please enjoy!_

* * *

Sam prides himself on being able to put the puzzle pieces together.

He enjoys researching and prefers being cooped up in a library than actually out in the field. He's a lot like Bobby in that sense—though neither he nor Bobby would ever admit it—but Dean makes sure his combat skills are still up to date. Though his brother has never come out and said it, Sam knows that his older brother is worried that his four years at Stanford have produced some sort of new weakness that Dean now needs to guard against. The youngest Winchester knows better, of course. Four years of being a civilian can't wipe away the years of training he endured under his father's careful watch and Dean's helpful hand. Still, he humors his older brother and trains whenever Dean gets anxious about Sam's skills not being up to par.

Maybe he should've spent less time training and more time figuring out who the witch was.

"So, you're the one who's been hunting me?" The sultry voice catches him off-guard, but Sam quickly spins around, knife poised to kill. The witch stands before him in the doorway, a smirk on her ruby red lips. She's gorgeous—silky brunette hair that cascades down her back, a black dress that hugs her in all the right places and the brightest pair of green eyes that he has ever seen—and he idly wonders if this is how she naturally looks or whether it's due in part to some magic.

"You're the witch?" He echoes, knife still ready to strike if need be. He's not sure how she got into the motel room—they have too many wards up—but he's not about to take any chances.

"Witch is such a bad word," She scoffs, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, making herself perfectly comfortable. Sam's nervousness ramps up. She's got to be insanely powerful—that's the only way she could've gotten in. She's already left a trail of bodies in her wake and Sam doesn't doubt her strength. He can't underestimate her. He can't let his guard down. She seemingly bristles with pride as she adds, "I'd prefer sorceress." Sam huffs out a breath and her emerald eyes lock on his gaze. He feels drawn in and he wonders briefly if this was how she got all her victims. Who would resist such a lovely woman anyway?

"You can't hurt me," He hisses and she tilts her head to the side, smiling softly. "I'm not like the others." The others referring, of course, to her countless victims—all male and all womanizers who had all ended up with a frozen heart. This witch, unlike many others, seemed to use her powers for seeking vengeance and her targets had been sleazy men who had cheated multiple times on their wives. Dean jokingly called them popsicles, but faced with the possibility of becoming like them, Sam no longer finds it funny.

"No," She murmurs her consent, rising from the bed and stepping close to him. With a flick of her wrist, the knife in Sam's hand vanishes and he finds himself against the wall with a thud. Groaning, he blinks the black spots from his vision and she smiles sinisterly. "But you lost someone—a girl you loved." Her perfectly manicured hand traces a circle around his heart. "You're a man with a broken heart, aren't you?" A hint of sadness flickers in her eyes and Sam looks away.

"No." He lies. In truth, losing Jess has done a number on him. The life he had pictured for himself had gone up in flames and now he was hunting again, something he had sworn he would never do again. His father was missing and he felt like he was barely hanging onto things. If it hadn't been for Dean, he probably would've died in that fire.

"You're in pain," The witch continues, gauging his reaction after every sentence. "I can numb it. I can make you forget her." It's a trap he knows, but her eyes are sparkling and for a second, Jess is nothing more than a far-off dream, a distant recollection.

"N-no," He stammers because he would never betray her memory. "I don't want to." The witch pouts and then backs away from her, but Sam is still magically pinned to the wall. She sighs dramatically and gracefully tumbles upon the bed.

"What to do then?" She questions. "You are here to kill me after all. You and your friend—" That provokes a violent reaction within Sam. He struggles against invisible bonds, desperate to get free. Dean is out interviewing a couple downtown whose son had been the latest victim in the witch's wrath. He could walk in on this and be just as helpless—

"Stay away from him!" Sam growls, voice deadly and the witch sits up, eyes dancing in amusement.

"Oh, don't you worry, honey," She coos, voice dripping in false charm. "He's not my type—now you, on the other hand," She gets up from the bed and crosses to Sam once more. "You are just the kind of guy that I adore." She sweeps his bangs to the side. "You're like a kicked puppy—adorable and dying inside." Her ruby lips tilt up in a smile. "I'll help you." She lays her palm flat against his heart. Cold starts to seep into his bones and Sam throws everything against the invisible bonds, only for them to tighten against him.

"You can't—" He chokes as the ice pierces his heart.

"I'm not going to kill you," She replies calmly. "The weather outside on the other hand? That might do it though." She has a point. The snow has been piling up and it's 10 degrees outside. She grins wickedly and Sam can hear his heartbeat slow as the cold enters his bloodstream. His eyelids feel heavy and darkness claws at the edges of his vision.

"Dean." He whispers as the freezing cold consumes him. Warmth is just a word to him now; he no longer remembers what it felt like. The witch chuckles softly.

"It's such a shame," He can hear her as the darkness overtakes him. "I was starting to like you."

Then, nothing.

* * *

It's fucking cold.

That's pretty much the only thought that Dean is able to process that he jogs up to the room and lets himself in. The couple had been a dead end and frankly, Dean was beginning to doubt that even Sam with his freaky, geek brain would be able to figure out how to pin this witch down. He slams the door behind him, relishing the newfound warmth in the room.

"I'm back!" He calls as he rubs his hands together, willing them to warm up faster. He wipes off the snow that managed to accumulate on him from the short walk from the Impala to the room. "Sam?" He glances at the bathroom, but the door is open. Confused, he glances around the room and sees Sam's boots by the door, his cellphone and wallet on the bedside table and his jacket neatly placed over a chair.

And yet, there is no sign of Sam being in this room.

"Sammy?" He calls again, pushing down the feeling of fear and panic that is starting to bubble up within him.

Again, no answer.

"Okay." Dean mumbles, putting his years of training into practice. He scans the room, but sees no signs of a struggle anywhere. Sam just left then—maybe went to get food? He discards that idea when he realizes that Sam would've had to go in his socks since his boots were still here. Besides, he would've left a note. So, where was his little brother?

"So, you're the other one?" She emerges from seemingly thin air and for a second, Dean is struck by how beautiful she is. She smirks at him playfully, but he regains his senses and pulls out his gun. She throws her hands up in a mocking version of being worried. "Please. Don't hurt me!" She cackles and with a flick of the wrist, his gun is gone. He's frozen in place, unable to move. His feet feel like lead and he can barely lean towards the woman.

"Witch." He spats, drawing the conclusion. Chuckling, she claps her hands together.

"And he's smart too!" She mocks. "But as I told your friend, I don't like being called that." At the mention of Sam, Dean violently struggles against the magic in vain. He can't break free and he's pretty sure that this witch knows it.

"What the hell did you do to my brother?" He hisses, summoning up all the fury and rage he can muster, forcing his voice to be deadly. The witch tilts her head to the side, brown hair tumbling behind her shoulder.

"Brother?" She echoes. "I suppose I do see the resemblance—"

"If you've hurt him, I'll kill you—"

"Oh, please," She murmurs tiredly. "Spare me your threats. We both know you can't get out of my spell." She plops down on the bed and plays with a loose strand of the blanket.

"What did you do—?" He's still fighting though he knows deep down that she's right. He can't get out of this spell, but he'll keep trying. For Sam, he would do anything.

"I'm prepared to offer you a deal," She begins diplomatically, meeting his gaze. "I'll let you out of this spell and let you find your brother if—and I mean only if—you let me go."

"Let you go?" He repeats, incredulously. Because why the hell would he let her go after she took Sam and did something with him? Anyone or anything that messed with Sam got the punishment they deserved.

"Or you can stay here, locked in my spell while your brother dies," She continues nonchalantly. "Your choice." She has a clear and valid point so he doesn't hesitate. She's done something to Sam and Dean needs to find him now.

"Deal." He says simply.

"Mark my words," She growls. "You come after me again and cheater or not, I will kill him and you." And with a flick of her wrist, she's gone and Dean can finally move. He rushes out the motel room door, not even noticing the cold.

Sam needs him.

* * *

He covers the whole town, but there's no sign of Sam. No one has even seen him all day. Dean's frustrated and worried sick. His brother could be bleeding out somewhere and Dean is just standing here, trying to figure out what to do next. He hates this—being helpless. It goes against everything he stands for. Dean takes pride on being able to change people's lives everyday. He enjoys proving people wrong and showing others that nothing is set in stone, that if they have a little willpower, anything can be accomplished.

Anything except finding missing little brothers apparently.

Dean curses low and long under his breath.

The sound of children's laughter dimly registers as he sees a few girls staring at a snowman that is at the edge of the snowy parking lot. It's huge—taller than most people—and it's complete with a red scarf, coal eyes, black buttons and a carrot nose. It's the perfect snowman.

"It's big enough to be as tall as Daddy!" The young girl exclaims to her friend. The two then rush to their parents, leaving Dean with an empty parking lot once more. The snowman smiles at him, almost too happily.

And then it clicks.

It's also the perfect hiding place for a witch that froze men's hearts for fun. Before he knows it, Dean is sprinting across the parking lot and is yanking the snowman apart. There's so much snow and it feels much colder than normal snow does, but eventually he brushes against Sam's bare arm. It's like ice, but Dean stuffs down the fear and continues to pull the snowman apart. Sam's limp body falls against him and Dean curses at how pale he is. His lips are practically blue and his pulse is faint.

"Hang on, Sammy," He soothes, pulling him up as gently as he can manage. "I've got you, okay? You just stay with me, you hear? No dying. Can't let that bitch win, right Sammy?"

Sam's silent—doesn't even so much as twitch and that scares Dean more than every creature he's ever fought.

He brings Sam inside and immediately gets the heater running. Surprisingly, Sam's clothes aren't even wet and Dean supposed that had something to do with the magical properties of the snow he had been encased in. Still, even without having to change his clothes and worry about that, Sam's in bad shape. Whether he needs a trip to the hospital remains to be seen. He grabs the small heating blanket they found a few states back and plugs it in.

There is one other thing he can do.

He climbs into the bed, pulls his brother towards him and hopes that Sam's frigid body will absorb some of his own heat. It's a chick-flick moment and Dean would be mortified if anyone found out, but there's nothing he wouldn't do for Sam.

"Anytime you wanna wake up and bitch about this dude." He whispers, but again receives no response.

And then the shivering commences.

It's violent and Dean's afraid Sam's going to hurt himself from all the shaking, but it's also a sign that Sam's body is starting to recover. Dean murmurs reassurances and holds his brother closer, wishing Sam would open his eyes. Checking Sam's pulse, he's pleased to see that it's gotten stronger.

They might just make it through this yet.

"Way to go, kiddo."

* * *

Sam doesn't ask about why they're suddenly leaving town without taking down the witch. The details he recalled from his encounter—and the few he had managed to pry from his brother—had painted a clear enough picture that going up against this witch with just the two of them was going to backfire. Still, he had ended up in a snowman? Sam kind of wishes they could go after her. Still, it wouldn't be worth dealing with the fallout and as it was, Dean was pretty much shooting glances his way every five second.

"I'm okay, Dean." He huffs as they speed down the road, the engine humming—Sam's favorite lullaby when he had been a kid and secretly, it still was now.

"Never said you weren't." A calculated, measured response. Inwardly, Sam groans. His brother was going to be stubborn. Fine. Two could play that game.

"You know we shouldn't be leaving like—" Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightens considerably.

"Shut up, Sam." A clear warning—one that Sam ignores.

"I'm just saying," He plows on, ignoring his brother's signs of mounting fury. "This witch is bad news. We should—"

"New rule," Dean snaps, fury dancing beneath his supposedly calm tone. "Shotgun doesn't talk for the rest of the trip."

"But Dean—"

"It's not worth your life, Sam!" He appears shocked that it came tumbling out and Sam lets the surprise momentarily linger on his face, before collecting himself.

"Okay." He murmurs because if it came down to the hunt or Dean, there's no doubt about which he would pick.

"Okay?" Dean echoes, like he's unsure if he really won this argument.

"Yeah."

A pause. Dean nods.

"Good."

Then, with a smirk, Sam adds, "Cuddling though, dude? Really?"

"Shut up!"

"Never knew you were such a softie, Dean."

"Sam, shut the hell up or you will be walking to Minnesota!"

Sam laughs and watches as some of the tension drains from his brother's face. The witch can wait. In the end, all that matters is the man sitting next to him.

"Dean." His brother warily glances sideways at him. "Thanks." A moment of understanding passes between them and then, Dean turns up the music.

Sam just smiles.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And there we go! I hope you all liked it. It's definitely my favorite chapter so far. Please read, review and request! _


	9. Chapter 9: Clueless

_**Author's Note: **__All right, guys, I've been getting a lot of questions about whether I'm going to do certain prompts. Let me assure you all that as of right now, I am doing ALL prompts submitted to me before Christmas. Rest assured, I will get to everyone! I just work on a first come, first serve basis—starting with the people who submitted first and then working back to the more recent prompts. That being said, if you submitted two prompts—because you thought I wasn't going to do your first one—please pick which one you'd like me to do. Otherwise, I'll just pick. Is that clear? I'm sorry for all the confusion! _

_Now, onto tonight's prompt! This one comes from __**goldfishie1**__ who asked for, "Sam with a migraine, with Dean taking care of Sam, please." This features Teen!Chesters! So, Dean is 18 here and Sam is 14. I also threw in some John in there, just for fun. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_And I believed in Father Christmas _

_And I looked to the sky with excited eyes _

_Then I woke with a yawn _

_In the first light of dawn _

_And I saw him and through his disguise."_

—_Greg Lake, "I Believe in Father Christmas"_

* * *

John is a damn good hunter.

He's become somewhat famous in the community. Other hunters stay out of his way and look at him with nothing but respect in their eyes. He's a bit of legend—the man raising two boys into the life, while simultaneously hunting down anything that has to do with the demon connected with his wife's death. He's faced nearly every sort of supernatural creature and has survived nearly every type of injury. He prides himself on being strong in every way.

And yet, at the sight of the pain his youngest is enduring, John is clueless at how to help.

"Sammy?" He asks gruffly, unsure why his son has suddenly stopped in the doorway. Dean has stepped out to get some presents for Christmas in two days. It's odd—usually John has a hunt lined up for Christmas, but the vengeful spirit he had been hunting had been pretty much been a walk in the park—but John is determined to have a semi-normal Christmas with his two boys.

"M'sorry." Sam mumbles, wincing as he rubs his temples. "I thought I could take care of it—" A truck rumbles by in the parking lot, drowning out the rest of his sentence and suddenly, the youngest Winchester has fallen down on his knees, cradling his head within his hands.

"Sam!" John calls, sheer panic running through his veins because he automatically equates Sam's stance with bleeding out, with hunts gone wrong, with Sam's life slipping away—

He blinks, dispelling the fears and kneels to his youngest child's side. He can handle this—he's just got to stay focused. With a careful gaze, John's scans his child's body for any signs of injury, but comes up with nothing. Perhaps, it's a spell? He doesn't remember of ticking off any witches recently, but you could never know for sure.

"M'sorry, sorry," Sam brokenly apologizes as he flinches away from John's touch. It stings, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. Sam's practically caving in on himself and John wouldn't be lying if he didn't say that it didn't scare him. "Hurts, D'n."

And before John can even have time to process how Sam called for his older brother who wasn't even there instead of John, Dean arrives. His eldest takes one glance, tosses the presents aside and pulls Sam towards him. Whispering reassurances, he motions for John to close the door behind him and get the blinds. Numb, John does as he's instructed.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean soothes, an easy smile on his lips despite the concern dancing in his eyes. "We've done this before, right kiddo? We can deal with this."

"Done what—?" Before he has time to get his sentence out, Dean sends him a withering glare and signals for John to lower his voice. He obliges, but doesn't like this way his eldest is treating him—like Sam is only his responsibility, and John should be grateful he's allowed in the room. "Done what before?"

"Migraine." His eldest whispers.

It takes a full minute for the implication to sink in. Migraine . . . that was a normal thing, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with hunts or monsters or anything relating to the supernatural. It was just a normal, everyday human thing.

John is suddenly out of his element.

He stays out of the way as Dean cares for Sam, seemingly knowing exactly what to do. He darkens the room, feeds Sam some pain pills and helps him into bed. Tucking him in, Dean whispers something in his little brother's ear—something that makes Sam beam.

"Then, go to sleep," Dean orders quietly. "It'll be better when you wake up."

Sam obliges.

10 minutes later, Sam's out like a light and John feels the overwhelming need to go find a bar somewhere and drink until he can't remember how much of a failure of a father he is.

"How long has he—?" He asks.

"A few months."

Anger flares up.

"And you didn't think I deserved—?"

"Be quiet!" Dean interjects with a sharp whisper, eyes hardening.

"Dean—" John begins, but his eldest holds a hand up, silencing him.

"There was no need to tell you. We had it under control."

Failure. That's what he is. He may be the best damn hunter on the planet, but he has failed in raising his two boys. His youngest obeyed Dean more than him and his oldest believed he knew what was best for Sam.

And John was just clueless when it came with how to deal with the two of them outside the realm of hunts.

He storms out, determined to find a bar.

* * *

"He's mad." Sam whispers and Dean stiffens. He had been hoping his brother had been sleeping during the confrontation, but clearly that hadn't been the case. Sitting on Sam's bedside, he gently rubbed reassuring circles on Sam's palm.

"No, he's not." Dean contradicts.

"He left." _He left us again. _That's what Sam is truly saying with his puppy dog eyes welling up with tears from both pain and sadness. Dean winces in sympathy.

"He'll come back." At least, he hopes John will. There's been times where their father had dropped off the grid for weeks and it always frightened Sam. He always felt like it was his fault, something that Dean had vehemently denied because Sam could do no wrong. Sure, he wasn't the best hunter, but he had his own strengths.

"M'head hurts." His little brother frowns and Dean sighs softly.

"I know, kiddo. I know." Sam blinks hard and tries—in vain—to clear his mind from the pain. They've been through countless migraines together and Dean knows that Sam will be down for a good few hours.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, dude?" Dean murmurs. "Not like you could stop it."

"For Dad—"

"Screw Dad." Dean growls.

"You don't mean that," Sam gently admonishes. "S'not his fault either." Suddenly exhausted, Sam's eyes slip shut and he's asleep. Dean remains by his side, prepared to act if his brother should need him.

But silently, he grieves for a father that stopped being one so many years ago.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This became more of a John character study and a bit depressing, but I really liked it. We kind of needed a change of pace anyway! So, please review and request! I love getting your feedback! _


	10. Chapter 10: Hunting Accident

_**Author's Note: **__Tonight's prompt comes for __**MY Siberian Husky is MY Angel**__, who requested, "I always wanted to read a story where Sam's leg gets caught in a bear trap." Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He doesn't see it in time.

They're hiking—tracking a wendigo—and the forest floor is covered with so much snow that it's impossible to see anything on the ground below him. One second, he's talking to Dean about how he's sure the creature went the other way and the next, he's crying out in pain.

"Sam!"

Metal teeth bite into his leg and with a dim realization, Sam understands what this is—a hunting trap. Blood is gushing out of his leg and the youngest Winchester doesn't know what's worse, the stinging pain or sudden effects of blood loss. Dean is by his side now, whispering a litany of reassurances while examining the trap.

"Dammit." Sam curses, mouth pinched in sheer agony. He wants to struggle, but he forces himself to remain absolutely still. Thrashing will just make it worse—it could break bones or cause him to pass out from blood loss much sooner than expected. Still, he's not used to being helpless and he shoots Dean a worried glance.

"Fucking bear traps," Dean growls as he inspects the leg. "It's not even hunting season."

"Forgotten, maybe? Due to the storm?" Sam ventures, trying to distract his mind from focusing in on the acute, fiery flame that is working its way up his leg. The teeth dig in more and Sam swears he can feel his bone beginning to crumble to dust. Blood stains the snow pink.

"You hang on, okay?" Dean orders desperately, somehow sensing that Sam's on the verge of fading away. There's a trap biting into him and he's going to die out here in the middle of nowhere from blood loss. It's kind of ironic that while hunting for something supernatural, it's a normal hunting trap that does him in.

Dean glowers at him.

"That's not funny, Sam." Huh, he must've said that out loud. He's starting to get woozy. Dean's motions are all starts and stops—like a little kid has gotten control of the DVD remote and is fast-forwarding for a bit before rewinding. Frankly, it's making the youngest Winchester dizzy. There's so much blood now and despite the darkness clawing at the side of his vision, Sam can see the defeat starting to appear in Dean's voice.

"S'okay." Sam slurs, throwing a hand out to comfort his brother. This wasn't the way he had pictured dying, but with Dean by his side, it's definitely not the worst way to go out. "D'n—"

"No!" His older brother shouts, shaking his head in denial. "None of that last words crap, you hear me, Sam? You don't get to die—I'm not letting you!" He's pressing his jacket to the wound that Sam can no longer feel—a definite bad sign—and is vainly trying to stop the bleeding. "Listen to me, I'm going to get you out. You just hang on, okay Sam?"

And even know he knows he's going to pass out any second, Sam nods.

For Dean, he's always willing to stay and fight.

* * *

When he wakes up, there are 20 stiches in his leg and one concerned brother by his bedside. Judging by Dean's extremely relieved expression and the number of monitors he's hooked up to, Sam's guessing it was pretty touch and go for awhile. He smiles softly at Dean, despite still being woozy and a bit in pain. His brother shoots him a grin back.

The details of how he got here don't matter.

What does matter is that he's okay and that his older brother is beside him.

Sam holds out his hand and waits. Instantly, his older brother's hand slips into his. Both Winchesters relax for the first time since this crazy incident began. Sam's eyes slips shut and he's almost asleep before he hears,

"Such a girl, Sam."

He chuckles and though it hurts, it's worth it.

And girly or not, Dean is still holding his hand.

Sam sleeps in peace.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This one was pretty hard for me to write and it came out a lot differently than I had intended. Still, I hope you enjoyed! Please review and request if you have time! _


	11. Chapter 11: Some Enchanted Evening

_**Author's Note: LeighAnnWallace**__, here is your "Jack-o-lantern" prompt. And as promised earlier, here's some drunk!Sam, which I will admit, is not my forte. Still, I liked how it came out and I hope you did too. Set one day after the season two finale and for the sake of making this holiday related, we're going to pretend like it was December during that episode. This is also told for an outsider's POV because I felt like we could use a change of pace. I really liked how it turned out. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I'm sure that you'll forgive me_

_If I don't enthuse_

_I guess I've got the Christmas blues." _

—_Dean Martin, "The Christmas Blues"_

* * *

The _Jack-O-Lantern Bar_ got its name from the owner's supposedly haunted light up plastic pumpkin that used to be put out during Halloween. The old guy used to swear up and down that the thing was cursed as he said it lit up in the dead of night without batteries and sometimes it floated. I, personally, never believed him—he wasn't the most reliable guy. He was nice and a good boss, but he was more interested in drinking his own liquor than selling it. But hey, we've all got our own vices, right? That's what did him in the end though—cirrhosis of the liver—but to his very last breath, he clung onto the belief that the creepy plastic pumpkin was indeed haunted. Now, we keep it out as a sign of remembrance and to this day, I've never seen it do anything supernatural.

Maybe the old man had been crazy after all.

"Marie?" I titled my head to the side and watch as Angie slid her coat on. "You got this?" I glanced around the bar. It was midnight and practically empty, despite it being the holiday season. Still, we were a small town and many people flew to other parts of the country during this time of year.

"Yeah, sure," I said with a wave. "Say hi to Robert for me." Angie grinned as she headed out the door, nearly colliding with a giant of a man.

"Sorry." He mumbled and Angie nodded before quickly slipping out the door. The young man headed straight towards the bar and sat down on the stool directly in front of me. His brown hair hung slightly in his face, obscuring his eyes, but judging from the way he was seated—hunched over like that was the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces—and the way and he kept biting his lower lip—as if to keep the pain from pouring out—I could tell that something awful had occurred to him.

"Hey," I greeted softly and he jumped back, like he hadn't even realized I was there. "What can I get you?"

"A beer." He murmured, eyes meeting mine. They were red rimmed and I idly wondered if he had lost someone. We often got people who had lost family members in here and though it always pained me to see them, by the end of the night, they seemed somewhat more resigned to their fate than they had been when they first came in. I did as he asked and placed the glass in front of him.

"I'm Marie," I introduced myself with a small smile. "Let me know if you need anything else . . . ?"

"Sam." He said with a whisper and then sipped his beer. I picked up an empty glass and a cloth and began to clean it, humming quietly to myself. Soft strains of "Carol of the Bells" could be heard on the speakers, but I doubted anyone but me was playing attention to them. Next to Sam, an older man in a leather jacket placed down a $20 and motioned for me to keep the change. I grinned my thanks and slipped the bill in the register before pocketing the tip.

"You take care of yourself, you hear Marie?" He ordered gruffly as he headed towards the door. "Lots of strange stuff going on tonight."

"I will, thanks!" He exited the room and I went back to cleaning. The bar was almost empty now—just Sam and me. With each sip, he appeared to grow more and more despondent and by his second beer, I wondered if maybe something truly traumatic had happened to him.

"S'all my fault," Sam slurred and I stepped away to give him some privacy. Contrary to popular belief, bar tenders aren't psychologists. We don't have all the answers and most of us really don't care about your problems. We have our own to worry about and though I was no exception, there was something in Sam's eyes that drew me in. He was like a lost, little puppy. You couldn't help but want to help him, want to ease his pain somehow. "Dean's going away. S'all my fault." He trembled slightly and then took another swig of the beer. I debated momentarily what to do before taking a deep breath in and stepping in his line of sight.

"Sam?" He glanced up and I caught sight of some tears shining in those soulful eyes. Screw it, I thought. This guy needed my help and for some reason, I felt compelled to give it to him. "Everything okay?"

The door burst open and two men stormed in. I stiffened, immediately getting a bad feeling from them though I didn't know exactly why. They appeared nice enough—tall, dark, well dressed and even a bit handsome—but their eyes were emotionless, cold even. I glanced at the shotgun we kept under the counter, praying it wouldn't come to that, but knowing that we were a rural community and the police department was a good 15 minutes away. Forcing my expression to be neutral, I positioned myself near the gun.

"Miss." One of them greeted respectfully with a dip of his hat while the other focused in on Sam.

"Can I help you, boys?" I asked.

"Not you," The man replied. "But Winchester on the other hand—"

Then, all hell broke loose.

One of the men socked Sam who then went flying out of his seat. I gasped and rushed to help him, but the second man waved his hand at me and I went flying into the back wall. Glass clattered around me and shards bit into my arm.

"What the hell?" I muttered as I forced myself up. One of the men had Sam by the collar of his shirt and the other laughed maliciously as his eyes flashed back. "What the hell is going on here?" Since when did people have black eyes and were able to throw others around like ragdolls? That was nowhere near normal! I wanted to help Sam, but an invisible force kept me down. It was like the weight of the world had suddenly fallen upon my shoulders and it was a struggle just to breathe, let alone move.

"You killed him!" The man holding Sam slammed him against the wall. "We're going to pull you apart until there's nothing—"

But Sam didn't let him finish.

Somehow, he flung the man holding him back and before I had time to even process it, he was throwing water at them from a flask that left them smoking and screaming in pain. Words tumbled out of Sam's lips and the two demons—for some reason that's what I thought they were—cried out in sheer agony before black smoke poured out of their lips. Limply, they fell to the floor and Sam staggered to the chair, huffing out a breath. The weight vanished and I rushed around the bar and tried to process what I had seen.

"S'okay," Sam whispered, words slurring. If he had managed to do this much damage while drunk, I wondered just how powerful he was when he was sober. "They're gone."

"But who—?" He shifted and winced in pain and that's when I saw it—the growing red stain that seemed to be devouring his white shirt. I hadn't seen them stab Sam, but then again, I had been knocked under the counter for at least a few minutes and with the speed at which they were moving, it was highly possible. "Oh, shit, hold on." I scurried to the first-aid kit and pulled out some bandages, placed them aside, before putting on some gloves. Reappearing at his side, I gingerly moved the t-shirt and took a good look at the clear stab wound. It was fairly deep and he was losing a fair amount of blood.

"S'okay." Sam reassured me. "Had worse than this." Worse than a stab wound? What did this guy do for a living?

"I need to call an ambulance—" He gripped my arm as I moved away and I froze in my tracks.

"No." His voice was full of hidden authority and I wondered if he was a soldier of some sort. Maybe that was why I felt compelled to follow his order?

"You're going to bleed out." I stammered, panic still coursing through my veins. I had never seen something like this happen, had never experienced it. "You need to get help."

"Maybe this is how it's supposed to end," He whispered, quiet resignation entering his eyes. "Dean tried to save me but . . . what's dead should stay dead."

"You're not making any sense," I told him, recalling that was one of the many symptoms of shock. He needed a hospital—I wasn't going to just stand here and watch him slip away, not when I had the means to help. "Sam, let me get you help—" He still held fast to my arm and I wondered how he had such a grip when he was losing so much blood.

"Dean's gonna leave in a year cause of me," Sam slurred, words growing fainter and fainter as more time passed. "I was the one stabbed though. I should've gone." Stabbed? My eyes widened slightly at this revelation. "Dean should've let me go."

"Sam, listen to me," I tried again, urgently. "How about I call Dean? Would that be okay?" I wasn't sure what Dean could do, but hopefully he would be able to talk some sense into Sam's thick head before he bled out in this bar.

"He'll come." Sam said with a sigh, eyes slipping shut. "Always does." His grip loosened and I tugged at his arms, trying to keep him upright.

"Sam!" I cried. "Stay awake!"

It was at that point that the door burst opened once more.

"Sam!" This man—Dean, I knew instinctively—rushed to Sam's side and took his weight from me. "Sammy—" Brother, I realized then. There was just something in the way he gently handled Sam that gave him away. I was an older sister, so I recognized all the signs of the overprotective sibling. I smiled wistfully as memories of taking care of my own little sister filled my mind. Then, as quickly as they had come, I forced them away to focus on the matter at hand.

"You're Dean?" I checked and the older man nodded. "Good. Two men came in and stabbed Sam."

"Fuck," Dean cursed. "How bad?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "They knocked me against the bar." I gestured to the broken glass that littered the area behind the bar and Dean scanned me with a careful eye. While Sam was obviously his first priority, he seemed to care whether I was in need of his help as well. I quickly waved him off, touched but able to take care of these cuts myself.

"D'n?" Sam's eyes opened and locked onto his older brother's gaze.

"Hey there," Dean greeted, beaming. "Next time you have a party, invite me, okay?" Sam suddenly sat upright, flailing a bit before his eyes rested on mine. "Easy, Sam, easy!"

"Marie . . ." He mumbled, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. "You okay?"

"I'm good." I answered with a small grin of my own. "Really, Sam, you should focus on yourself."

"Listen to the pretty lady, Sammy," Dean teased quietly, though I could see the worry dancing in his eyes. Using the bandages I had got, he wrapped them around Sam's abdomen and staunched the blood flow. Letting out a breath for the first time since this incident began, I moved towards the phone, ready to call for aid. "Don't." Dean had hauled up Sam now and was carefully holding him.

"He's lost so much blood—" I protested.

"He's had worse." Dean replied, eyes flashing with something that looked like grief mixed with rage.

"Is he a soldier?" I questioned, curiosity getting the best of me. Dean huffed out a dry laugh.

"Something like that." There was a story behind that remark, but I let it go.

"You need help to get him out—?"

"No." Dean interjected quickly. I nodded my head. He then glanced down at the two, unconscious men on the floor. "When they come too, they won't remember what happened."

"Why not—?"

"You really don't want to know." He answered frankly. Then, without another word, he gently maneuvered his brother outside, leaving me with tons of broken glass, two unconscious men, numerous cuts and more questions than answers.

"Better to get work." I mumbled.

* * *

It was two days later when Sam returned to the bar, Dean in tow. He came and sat where he had been before, but Dean wandered over to the pool tables and began talking with a pretty blonde woman. I smirked—Dean had seemed like he would be quite the ladies man.

"Marie." Sam greeted with a small smile tugging on his lips.

"Sam," I acknowledged, placing a beer in front of him. "On the house."

"You don't have to—" I held my hand up for silence and he took a swig of the drink.

"About those men . . ." He stopped suddenly and I wondered if this was a sensitive topic. "Look, I don't want to know who—what—they were. I mean, I had hit my head, so who knows what I could've seen, but Sam . . ." I let my voice trail off, unsure as what I was trying to get at. "I just wanted to thank you."

"It wasn't a problem." He replied, grin still in place.

"How are you doing?"

"I'll live. You?"

"A few stitches," I replied. "Are things with your brother, okay?" He glanced at me oddly and I kicked myself. I shouldn't be bringing up what he said while he was drunk, but . . . there was something haunting about his words, something that I couldn't let go until I knew for sure. "With him leaving in a year?" Sam paled instantly and I saw Dean shoot me a warning glance, but instantly Sam recovered and met my gaze once more.

"I'm going to keep him here."

He said it so confidently that I believed him, even if I had no idea what was going on between them. When Sam got ready to leave about an hour later, he slipped me his phone number. At my curious glance, he laughed.

"If guys like that show up again," He began to explain. "Or if anything weird happens, call me." Then, with Dean at his side, Sam Winchester walked out of the bar, leaving me with yet more questions than answers.

But there was something about him . . .

Maybe I would never know what was going on between those two boys. Hell, maybe I would never see Sam or Dean again. Despite that, I felt like I had learned something from them.

And when the next morning came, I called up my little sister for the first time in three years.

I would be lying if I said that those two boys had nothing to do with it.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And that's the end! I really liked how this turned out. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters so far. I hope you enjoyed! Please review and request! _


	12. Chapter 12: Crash (redone)

_**Author's Note: **__So, due to the overwhelmingly negative response to the last chapter and due to the own prompter's disappointment, I've decided to redo __**murphy9202**__'s prompt which was "Sam gets hurt while riding a snowmobile." I'm really sorry that you didn't get what you wanted the last time. I hope this is a little bit more what you had in my mind. I promise not to do any more drabbles for this story unless they are requested. I've learned my lesson! That being said, please be specific in your prompt. If you have a certain length in mind, let me know and I will do my best to meet it! So, here's chapter 12 redone. It's set in season 5. I hope this one is better for everyone!_

* * *

"Just go after him."

Dean stepped away from the cabin's window that let him see the snowy forest outside and sighed. Castiel stood in the corner and eyed him curiously, though his stoic expression was still firmly in place. The eldest Winchester sighed and ran a hand through his hair, internally debating what to do. "Dean—"

"Cas, enough." He interjected, more sharply than he had intended. Frowning, he added softly, "Sorry."

"I just do not understand," The Messenger of the Lord stated. "If you long for Sam to return, why not tell him so?"

"Because it's not that simple." Dean stated, angrily pacing the floor of the old cabin that they were staying in. It belonged to their latest client—a man convinced that the ghost of some ex-lover of his haunted the old cabin. Frankly, Dean hadn't been paying too much attention. He'd been a bit pre-occupied on the fact that he was upset with his brother. They had fought earlier—a stupid argument that soon escalated into harsh words about who was to blame for the impending apocalypse. They both had said things that they now regretted, but the hunter knew that he had said things that would take a lot more than apology to fix.

_You doomed the world Sam! You went with that bitch behind my back and look what happened! _

Sam had stormed out this morning after that and now it was getting close to dusk and Dean had seen neither hide nor hair of his little brother. He was worried—yeah, he could admit that—but he was unsure whether it was his place to go after Sam. After all, his little brother had gone somewhere to clear his head and for all Dean knew, he would walk through that door any second now.

Yep, any second.

"Dammit, Sam." He cursed softly.

"Shall I go after him then?" Castiel questioned, as if that was the obvious solution.

"No."

"But Dean—" The angel protested.

"He'll come back." He replied.

Dean stared out the window once more.

* * *

When he came to, he found himself pressed against a tree trunk. Behind him, the remnants of the blue were nothing more than a twisted pretzel of metal. He groaned as he tried to re-orient himself and push himself up into a sitting position. Pain radiated through every bit of him and he cursed as he finally got himself standing, though he had to clutch the tree trunk to do so. Snowflakes gracefully floated around him, some turning a sick shade of pink as they came in contact with the blood that was sluggishly seeping from his head. What had happened exactly? And more importantly, why couldn't he remember anything?

He tilted his head to the side in confusion as nothing more than the last few minutes filled his brain. Nothing enlightening appeared and he frowned. Maybe hitting his head had temporarily caused him to forget something? He searched for a name and came up with Sam.

"Sam?" He asked, sensing that this was his name though he wasn't sure. He took a step forward, relieved when his leg took the pressure without so much as a twinge of pain. Good, so the head injury was the only problem he had physically. He stopped moving when he realized he had no idea where he was. Glancing at the tracks in the snow, he saw they headed north and so he took a deep breath in and headed the opposite direction. Maybe he would remember what was going on if he could retrace his steps.

Or maybe he would freeze out here or die from shock.

Grimacing, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and began to walk.

* * *

"Sam." Castiel mumbled and Dean's head snapped around.

"What?"

"I can't sense him." The angel explained simply. Dread settled in the pit of Dean's stomach.

"What the hell does that mean?" He exclaimed, feeling the need to punch the wall. He had done this to his brother—he had pushed him into the cold. Grabbing his jacket and slinging it around his shoulders, he braced himself for the freezing wind that would await him outside.

"Wait, Dean—!"

He opened the door and nearly collided with his younger brother.

"Sammy." He breathed, always relieved when Sam was in his sight. Immediately, he frowned as he took note of the blood that was flowing from a deep cut on Sam's forehead. Ushering his brother into the warm room of the cabin, he had him sit down on the well-worn couch. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Sam replied shakily and Dean froze.

"What do you mean?" He questioned, trying to keep his voice even.

"He can't remember anything." Castiel breathed out, face drawn in worry. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

"Yeah." His little brother confessed shakily. "I just . . ." He glanced away, embarrassed. "I saw this cabin and something told me to stop."

"But, you don't know who we are?" The eldest Winchester whispered, wishing it wasn't true, but knowing even before his brother's conformation that it was.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, as if getting amnesia was somehow his fault.

"What do you remember?" Castiel interrogated, shooting a glance at Dean as if to check to see how he was doing.

"Waking up in the snow." Came the answer and Dean felt a mix of anger and fear rush over him. Anger, because why the hell did all this awful crap have to happen to Sam and fear because who knew if they could get Sam to recover his memories.

"Cas, can you—?" But Castiel was already moving forward, placing two fingers on Sam's forehead. He shut his eyes and a white light flashed through the room. When it subsided, Sam's injuries were healed and Dean held his breath. "Sam? Do you remember—?"

"No." He frowned and Dean grimaced.

"I apologize," Castiel said stiffly. "My powers grow weaker by the day."

"So . . ." Sam began, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Who are you?"

"Dean," He answered promptly. "I'm your older brother."

"And he is . . . ?" He gestured vaguely to Cas.

"A long story." The eldest Winchester replied with a sigh.

And with that, he launched into the story of their messed up lives.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Sam began, as he paced the wooden floor of the cabin. "He's an angel and we hunt things like ghosts and other stuff like that?" A sharp nod from Dean and Sam sighed, letting that sink in. "And I started the apocalypse?"

"Technically, Dean did." Castiel replied from the back of the room. Dean shot him a glare.

"But still, I did all this stupid stuff and now the world is going to end? Because of me?" He appeared so panicked stricken that Dean was almost tempted to lie. Still, he didn't have it in his heart to do that to Sam, not after what they had been through.

"Not just because of you." Dean interjected.

"This is all so fucked up!" Sam exclaimed, voice dripping with rage. Dean huffed out a laugh.

"Story of our lives."

"But I can't remember any of it!" Sam exclaimed angrily. He carded a hand through his hair and sat down. "I mean, I barely know my own name and now I find that I'm the reason that the world is ending? Hell, Dean, this is too much."

"Sam," Castiel spoke up. "Your memories will return—"

"And what if they don't?" The youngest Winchester challenged. "What then, huh?"

"We'll figure something out." Dean assured him, utilizing the same calming tone that had always soothed a toddler Sammy.

"I wish I could believe—" His brother sat down, head in his hands, appearing totally dejected.

"Then, believe me, Sammy," He interjected passionately. "You need to trust me, okay?" Sam nodded and Dean sat back on the couch, eyes watching his little brother intently, waiting for that "Ah-ha" moment.

It didn't come.

"Maybe . . ?" Castiel murmured and the elder hunter met the angel's gaze.

"What, Cas?"

"I could try something," He shifted uncomfortably. "Though the risk is great and I am unsure if it will be successful given my current state."

"Do it." Sam whispered.

"What are the risks—?" Dean spoke over him.

"I don't care!" His little brother shouted. Then, summoning those puppy dog eyes he was famous for, he stepped towards the angel. "Please. Whatever it is, do it." Castiel nodded and motioned for Sam to sit on the couch. Then, he placed two fingers on both of Sam's temples. Blinding white light filled the dimly lit room and when it faded, Sam had listed to the side.

He was unconscious.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, but Castiel's strong arm pulled him back.

"Wait a moment."

Dean did and Sam's eyes re-opened. His little brother pushed himself up and glanced around the room, as if he was unsure of his surroundings. Then, his eyes finally rested on Dean, who held his breath in anticipation. Sam quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side in slight confusion.

"Dean? Something wrong?" Sam—his Sam—asked.

Dean beamed.

"Welcome back, Sammy."

Sam appeared even more confused and at his expression, Dean couldn't help but laugh. He would apologize for yelling at Sam later, when they didn't have an angelic audience. He would explain how Sam had lost his memory too.

But for right now—for this one moment in time—being near Sam was all that he needed.

It was all that he had ever needed.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Better, everyone? While I still stand by the drabble, I do like how this came out. Anyways, I hope your earlier disappointment has faded after reading this. Again, I'm sorry! I won't do anymore drabbles here again. Please review and request if you have a second! _


	13. Chapter 13: Shopping

_**Author's Note: **__How do like this? Two updates in one day! So, for today, we have __**missingmikey**__ to thank for this prompt which was, "How about Sam shopping at a crowded mall and trouble ensues (fire, shooting ...)" Thank you for this prompt! I truly enjoyed writing it. Please enjoy! The 2__nd__ prompt will be up later tonight!_

* * *

"_Christmas, Christmas time is here, and Christmas songs you love to hear_

_Thoughts of joy and hope and cheer, but mostly shopping, shopping, shopping!"_

—_Straight No Chaser, "The Christmas Can Can"_

* * *

Christmas time for the Winchesters has always been a low-key affair.

In their youth, it had been a time where their father was lost to either his alcohol induced way of dealing with his grief or he was simply gone on a hunt. That left Dean to provide some Christmas magic to Sam—a feat he usually accomplished by stealing presents when he had been younger and then later, actually buying gifts with some money he earned from hustling pool. They had never done the traditional Christmas shopping in the mall. Hell, they never went to malls period!

This year . . . this year was different.

For one thing, it was Dean's first Christmas since returning from Hell—something Sam never thought he would be able to experience with his brother again—and for another thing, Sam felt like his older brother really deserved something nice. Not just a gas station gift, but an actual, perfect gift.

Hence the trip to the mall.

Dean had needed to go to do something himself—Sam hadn't really been paying attention—and once his older brother had vanished down the street in the Impala, Sam had taken the bus and then walked the few feet across the street to get to the mall. It was an impressive building—four stories with a huge glass dome ceiling that was decked out with lights and garlands—and it took Sam quite a bit of time to navigate his way to his target.

"Hello sir." A woman in a nice, white blouse and blue skirt greeted him with a warm smile. Her blonde hair had been piled up onto her head in a bun and she had a strand of pearls around her neck. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for this jacket." Sam reached into his jean pocket for the folded up piece of paper that he had managed to stash while Dean hadn't been looking. He opened and showed the woman the $300 leather jacket that his older brother would love. It was perfect for Dean—it was heavy duty enough to wear during the winter, but with all that material, it could easily halt a small knife, something the eldest Winchester would appreciate.

"Ah," The woman murmured. "For you?"

"My brother." Sam replied ad she grinned.

"That's so nice," She remarked and then ushered him over to the left side of the store. "Well, lucky for you, we do have that still available. Right this way—" He followed her around the corner and beamed, thinking about how Dean would re-act when he—

"Nobody move!"

A man in a black ski mask entered the store, a silver gun in his shaking hand. A woman gasped and pulled her daughter against her. The man headed straight towards the cash register and pointed the gun on the teller.

"Give me all your money." The man hesitated. "Now!"

"Oh my god," The woman leading Sam murmured. "Dear lord—" Sam sighed, but stepped towards the would-be robber.

"Hey." He made his voice even and calm, though he knew that this was a risky move. Still, help didn't seem to be on the way and what was he supposed to do? Sit there and watch while this guy, whose trigger finger kept shaking, swing the gun around on a crowd full of civilians?

No. Sam had learned it was his job to protect people from threats—all threats—supernatural or not.

"Back up!" The robber shouted, pointing the gun at Sam. The youngest Winchester obliged and slowly placed his hands up.

"You don't really want to do this." Sam said quietly.

"Oh, yeah? Why?" He racked his brain, trying to remember his _Intro to Psychology_ class that he had taken so many years ago.

"It's Christmas for one thing," He replied. "And for a second thing, do you even know how to use a gun?"

Bulls-eye.

The robber, flustered now, backed up until he was pressed into the counter, yet the gun never moved from Sam, though it was shaking like crazy.

"H-h-how the h-hell do y-you k-know that?" He stammered, freaking out. Sam grimaced. That wasn't good—if he panicked the man, he could accidentally shoot someone.

"Look, you don't want to do this. Put the gun down." Sam told him in his most soothing tone.

"I-I c-can't."

"You can!" Sam insisted. "You can put the gun down before you hurt someone." The robber considered his words and seemed about to do it—

Until the mall cops came running into the store, guns blazing. There was a flurry of moment, but all Sam remembered was the bang. He glanced around the room and let out a relieved sigh when he saw no one was hurt. Good, it had just been a close call then—

"Sir! You're bleeding!" He looked down at the red pool of blood that was starting to color his white shirt crimson. The pain then flared up. The woman screamed for help, but Sam's world went fuzzy. He wished Dean was there—Dean had always made things better.

His last thought before he passed was that he was never stepping foot inside a mall again.

* * *

He was never letting Sam out of his sight.

Never ever again.

He had just left to go get Sam that geeky book he had been eyeing in the bookstore in town and not one hour later did he receive the phone call that always sent the worst feelings of fear and worry down his spine.

"_Do you know Sam Hagar? You're listed as his emergency contact. He's been shot. Please come quickly—"_

So, here he was, waiting for news on his brother condition, secretly planning ways to always keep his little brother in his sight so that incidents like this could never take place ever again. Maybe he could invest in one of those leashes for babies? Though he would definitely need a bigger one consider Sam was a Sasquatch—

"Family of Mr. Hagar?" Dean rose immediately from the chair and the doctor crossed across the crowded waiting room to him. He was an older man, bald and in his 40's, but he had an air of experience.

"How's my brother?" The man smiled at him warmly.

"It's really quite lucky," He explained. "The bullet missed his heart and instead lodged above. He has a bit of a recovery ahead of him, but the surgery went well and I'm optimistic that he'll make a full recovery."

"Can I see him?" The eldest Winchester asked, feeling the need to assess his brother's condition for himself.

"Of course, this way." He motioned for Dean to follow him and the two disappeared behind the double doors and made their way through the confusing corridors of the hospital. Sam's room was the last on the left and Dean silently entered it, pleased to see that Sam was already awake and was sitting up.

"Dean." He greeted, clearly relieved to have his older brother in his sights.

"How'd you manage this one, Sammy?" He questioned with a sigh. "I leave you for an hour and you get yourself shot."

"I was trying to talk him down, he didn't mean—" Dean's eyes widened at that revelation.

"Wait, you mean you tried to talk to the crazy gunman—?"

"He wasn't crazy, Dean." Sam interjected.

"Dammit, Sam, you know better!" He cursed, pacing the room.

"So, what? I was just supposed to sit by and let this guy hurt someone else? No, Dean, I couldn't—"

"It's not worth your life, okay?" He murmured, the anger leaving his body as quickly as it had entered him. He understood Sam's logic—his brother was still a goody-two shoes after all—but he just wished that it didn't have to be like this. He had just gotten back to Sam. If he lost him all over again . . . Dean wouldn't know what to do. It's not like you could sell your soul twice, right?

"Hey," He faced Sam, his younger brother's eyes full of concern. "I'm okay." It was his way of saying he was sorry and Dean accepted the apology as he sat down in the chair slowly.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Besides the fact that I'm lucky?" Dean chuckled—luck had rarely been on their side. "I can go home tomorrow so you wanna go tonight—?"

"No," He mumbled quietly, feeling the need to make sure that Sam was okay, that he had the doctor's blessing to leave. "No, we've still got some time."

"Okay." Sam said, sensing there was something behind his brother's expression, but choosing to let it drop.

"Good." Dean replied as he leaned fully back into the chair.

It wasn't how he would've chosen to spend the evening, but Sam was okay and Dean himself was back. Sure, he still felt the aftereffects of Hell every night and though he wouldn't choose to confide in Sam with that particular piece of info, for the moment Dean felt pretty damn good.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?" He lazily opened his eyes and glanced at his brother.

"Thanks."

Dean just beamed, thankful that he was back because this—Sam's smile, his mannerisms, just everything about him—was what kept him going in Hell.

Sam was what kept him alive.

"Stop being a girl, dude."

_Love you too, Sammy. _

Sam just chuckled.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed this! So, I'll have the other prompt up tonight. Please look forward to it! _


	14. Chapter 14: The More Things Change

_**Author's Note: **__And I'm all caught up! So, this one comes from __**AlxM**__ who asked for, "This can be set in season 6 where it's Christmas and Sam's got a little old present wrapped in a newspaper (just like old times) for Dean that he's really nervous to give as he's not sure Dean would still want it. (The Amulet)." One amulet fix up chapter coming right up! This is set somewhere after "Like a Virgin" because I love that episode! I've also thrown in some Bobby just for fun. Please enjoy!_

* * *

This is stupid.

Really, completely stupid.

Sam flips the amulet in his hand—the amulet he had saved once Dean had left the room. It had devastated him to see his older brother throw out the one physical object that symbolized their bond. It had almost been like Dean had been tossing him aside. Which, given the circumstances—the impending apocalypse coupled with a disturbing trip to heaven—yeah, Sam understood why he did it.

That didn't make it sting any less.

He had kept the small amulet hidden in the deepest part of his duffel. He had been hoping Dean would find it once he was gone, but now he was back the amulet was still in the same place. Sam wasn't sure if now was the right time—according to Castiel, he had apparently been walking around without a soul for a long time and who knew what kind of crap he'd pulled with no conscience to guide him—yet, Sam also felt like this was his only chance. If he didn't do this now, he'd probably lose his nerve and would never attempt it again.

Still . . . maybe Christmas time wasn't the right moment for this, especially when they were staying with Bobby. How the gruff hunter still managed to look Sam in the eyes after what his soulless version had pulled miffed the youngest Winchester beyond belief, but he'd accepted it for the moment. The guilt still was there and clawed at him daily. Sometimes, he felt like he didn't deserve this chance he had gotten—a life devoid of hell and demon deals—but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he was glad he was back.

He couldn't remember Hell and he was grateful for that, really, but not being able to atone for all the things his evil twin had been doing? That was the part that would kill Sam Winchester.

"Sam?" Bobby sticks his head out the window, grimacing as the cold wind cuts him like a knife. Instantly, the amulet is tossed haphazardly into his coat pocket and he prays that Bobby didn't see it. "You planning on catching a cold or something?"

"Uh, no." He mumbles. The older hunter eyes him oddly.

"Then get the hell inside, would you?" He complains, swinging the door open. "Your brother will kill me if I let you get sick on my watch." Sam nods his head and walks inside, quickly heading upstairs to the guest room that he and Dean were currently occupying. His brother was out getting pie for tonight's dinner. That was another thing that bothered Sam. His older brother was acting like he was totally fine. He didn't want to discuss what Sam had done without his soul, he didn't want to hear Sam's apologies—he just wanted to drop the subject and move on. Yeah, Sam could see his older brother's point, but he couldn't just forget as easily as Dean. He had tried to kill Bobby! Who knew what else he could've done?

Hence, the amulet.

To be honest, Sam wants Dean to wear it for a more selfish reason. If Dean wears the amulet, it'll be like all has been forgiven between the two of them. They can have a clean slate and move on. But if Dean were to reject the amulet . . .

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sam wraps the amulet in newspaper and waits for Dean to return.

* * *

It's when Bobby leaves to go do a tow and Dean is happily eating a slice of cherry pie that Sam decides that now is his chance. He pulls out the small packages and awkwardly places it on the table. His brother eyes it oddly; an eyebrow raised and waits for an explanation.

"Um," Sam stammers, unsure as to why he's so nervous. He's faced down vengeful spirits, vampires and one insane homeroom teacher. He can handle this—he can do this. "Open it." It manages to come out a bit soften than he had intended, but Dean picks up the gift.

"S'not Christmas yet, Sammy." He murmurs, eyes never leaving the gift.

"I know," He whispers, butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach. Why on earth was he so nervous? There was nothing to worry about! Dean would accept the amulet . . . wouldn't he? "Just . . . please open it."

Dean obliges and the metal clangs against the table. Silence fills the house, save for the whirr of Bobby's ancient dishwasher. Dean's face is unreadable, his eyes a cloud of confusion, astonishment and something else that Sam can't quite catch. His older brother lays the amulet in his palm and finally looks up at Sam.

"I thought this was . . ." His voice trails off, but Sam understands. He shifts in his chair, nervousness making him completely uncomfortable. He's almost broke the first time Dean tossed the amulet aside, if he does it again—

Sam doesn't even want to go there.

"I got it." He replies.

"How long?" Dean's eyeing the object again, treating it with a reverence that he usually reserved for the Impala.

"About a year." Dean swears and Sam sighs. "I was hoping you'd find it once I was . . ." Dead? In Hell? "Gone." The eldest Winchester nods before rising from the table and stalking upstairs, the amulet in his hand.

Sam sighs. It's not a complete acceptance, but it's not a total rejection either. It's a start and for that, he's grateful.

* * *

And the next morning when Sam wakes up with a fever and a nasty cold from standing outside for too long, it's Dean that takes care of him for the first time in what feels like forever. His older brother watches over him with a nurturing side that only he had ever been fortunate enough to see.

It's right when he's about to go sleep—comforted by his brother's presence as well as the medicine—that he sees it. That's the black cord of the amulet on Dean's neck as it dipped and vanished beneath his shirt, a sure sign that the metal trinket is hiding underneath the fabric.

It's not the same as it was before—they've both grown as people and things have changed—but it's definitely a start. It's a step in the right direction.

And Sam Winchester was all about new beginnings.

He falls asleep listening to his brother talk about the pros and cons of mixed tapes.

Some things never change.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There you go! This focused more on nervous Sammy than it did on hurt Sam, but I still enjoyed it. I hope you all did too! Please review if you have a second! Thanks! _


	15. Chapter 15: A Little Bit of Everything

_**Author's Note: **__I'm super pleased to present this latest chapter to everyone! Tonight's prompt comes from __**sammynanci**__, who asked for "a forest, a hunt goes wrong, Bobby, Dean and Sam and of course the boy caught in a trap that a hunter left idiot out there (to hurt innocent animals and our innocent Sammy,) Consequences, blood, sweat and tears, fevers, storms or whatever you want to add to complicate things." This prompt challenged me quite a bit as I had already fulfilled a chapter about Sam being caught in a hunter's trap. Still, after some thinking, my muse spoke to me and this is the end result. I hope you enjoy! I had lots of fun writing it! This is set in season 2. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Oh the weather outside is frightful, _

_But the fire is so delightful__."_

—_Michael Buble, "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow"_

* * *

It had started out simple, as most complicated situations do.

Bobby had come to them with the hunt—a weakened Wendigo that was wreaking a bit of havoc about 30 miles North of them—and the three of them had embarked on the job, Sam and Dean in the Impala with Bobby following behind them. The gruff hunter had explained that he wanted to get out of his house for a bit, but Sam wondered if he was more of keeping an eye on them. After all, it wasn't much of a secret that Dean wasn't exactly dealing with their father's death well. His outburst with what Sam had assumed was a crowbar that had damaged the Impala had pretty much made it crystal clear to the youngest Winchester that Dean wasn't doing so well. So in a way, Sam was grateful Bobby was tagging along. Having another set of eyes never hurt and with his older brother's head not focused on the hunt, it was probably a good thing that Bobby was here.

It hasn't taken long to pick up the Wendigo's tracks. The thing had to be sick or something, the way it was leaving so much physical evidence behind. Trees are damaged, blood forms a trail on the ground—it's pretty much a walk in the park. This hunt would be over before they knew it, which was a good thing for Sam as he has seen how the clouds had gotten progressively darker as their trek into the forest drags on. It looks like one hell of a storm is coming and he's relieved that he won't be caught on it.

Behind him, Dean hoists his flare gun a bit higher and let his careful eyes scan the environment. Bobby does the same, though every so often he steals glances at Dean, as if he expects the younger hunter to snap or break down. Sam smiles sadly, knowing that his older brother would never do such a thing. While Sam was open with his emotions—a "chick-flick" guy—Dean preferred the unhealthy way of bottling his feelings up until they flared up in anger or drunkenness. It made the youngest Winchester sad to see his older brother like this, but he had tried his best to get Dean to open up and all he had gotten was a sharp rebuke followed by frosty silence.

Looking back on it now, maybe that's why he didn't see the way that there was an overabundance of leaves in that one certain area and why all the small animals stayed away from that spot. Still, Sam had been too focused on Dean to realize. Without another thought, he steps onto the ground—

And promptly falls down into the deep pit.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean shouts, though his voice sounds far away. Dust and dirt have flown up on Sam's descent and the youngest Winchester coughs as his lungs try to purge the material from his system. "Sammy, you okay?" Dean peers down at him and Sam swiftly takes in his surroundings. He has fallen into a deep pit of sorts with walls that are at least 8 feet high. His body aches, but he can't find anything broken and he's relieved that he has come out unscathed.

"I'm okay!" He replies as he makes eye contact with his brother.

"Balls," Bobby curses as he too now glances down the hole. "Must be an old hunting trap."

"Hunting trap?" Dean echoes.

"Yeah," The gruff hunter replies. "Hunters used to use these to trap large game. Then, they'd come by later, shoot the thing and take it home." Sam grimaces.

"Can you climb out?" The eldest Winchester asks and Sam shakes his head. The walls are slippery and he can't get a stable footing on them.

"No."

"Dammit." Dean swears softly before muttering something to Bobby, who then nods and walks away from the edge of the pit. "Hang in there, Sam. Bobby's got some rope back in his truck."

The truck is a good half-an-hour walk though and that means that Sam will be down here for at least an hour. He's trapped and helpless in a pit meant to kill animals.

Great.

And that's when the rain began to fall.

* * *

So, a bit of water never hurt anyone, right?

Try being trapped in a pit with dirt walls that could cave in on you at any moment if the dirt turned to mud, while simultaneously being soaked as the water filled the bottom of the pit. Not to mention that there was a Wendigo somewhere in this forest and Sam was now an easy target.

Things were going just great.

"You hanging in there, Sammy?" That had become Dean's new favorite question and not even five minutes would pass before he asked it once again. Sam shivers slightly as he nods his head. The rain is cold and it seemingly seeps into his bones. Still, he could handle this until Bobby returned. Yes, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic but panicking would do nothing but worsen things.

"I'm okay." Dean shoots him a sympathetic smile—the first that Sam has seen in weeks. It warms him a bit and lifts his spirits. Maybe some good things can come out of this.

His older brother proceeds to prattle on about something to do with the Impala's engine and Sam tunes out, just letting his brother's voice ground him.

Sam is going to get out of this.

* * *

When Bobby returns 45 minutes later, the water has reached shoulder level and Sam is shivering too much to form a full sentence.

"Hang on there," Bobby tells him. "We're going to get you out." He turns to Dean and begins to discuss something, but Sam can't hear what exactly. He feels numb and he's tired from standing for so long. He wants to go back to Bobby's, take a shower and then sleep for a millennium. He waits for the rope to be tossed down and prays that he'll be able to grasp it. He pulls his hands out of the freezing water and flexes them. They sting and are appearing slightly blue, but Sam is confident that he'll be able to grasp the rope.

"Okay, Sam," Dean calls. "We're going to pull you out." The rope is tossed down and Sam clings to it and using all of his strength hoists himself up, while Dean and Bobby pull him out. A minute later, he's out of the pit and on the solid, muddy ground with his brother. Instantly, a jacket is swept around his shoulders and Sam can tell from a quick cursory glance that it's Dean's. His brother—now clad in a short sleeve shirt—scans him with a critical eye.

"M'ok-k-kay." Sam stutters, still frozen down to the bone. Dean just sighs and help him up.

"Let's head back," Bobby tells the two brothers. "Hunting in this storm isn't a—". Sam sees it before anyone else and a few seconds after noticing the ruffling bushes, the cry of the Wendigo fills the forest.

"Shit!" Dean exclaims as he readies his flare gun, stepping directly in front of Sam. He shares a look with Bobby who simply nods and then swings to protect Sam from the other side. The Wendigo staggers into the clearing—eyes wild with hunger and pain. It's favoring its left leg and Sam can see the black traces of infection. It's probably dying and is so desperate that it will go after anything. Now, normally, to take care of a Wendigo, you'd use flares but the rain is pretty much crushing any chance of that happening.

Which means they're screwed.

Again.

The Wendigo seems to sense this as its lips turn upwards in a deformed version of a smile. It growls once more before charging. Dean's pulling out his gun, but Sam knows he won't be fast enough. Even with the Wendigo walking wounded, it's damn fast—faster than Dean. Without thinking, Sam forces all of his strength into his arms as he pushes Dean out of the line of fire. The Wendigo's jaws crush onto Sam's arm and he cries out as blinding pain fills him.

He hears gunfire and frantic shouts.

But the last thing he remembers before passing out are Dean's tear-rimmed eyes.

* * *

He floats in a fiery darkness.

It feels like someone has set Sam aflame. Sometimes, whoever is controlling the fire decides to turn off the flame for a few seconds to soak him in the coldest ice possible so that he freezes, before setting him on fire once more.

_Just some cold washcloths, Sam. Gotta keep you from boiling up, right? _

He feels like he's dying and he wonders if he'll ever make it out of this darkness again. The flames lick at his chest and he feels his heart pounding a mile a minute as his blood boils. He can't breathe and it feels as if the world around him is caving in.

_Sammy, you stay with me, okay? Hang on for me, please—_

Dean's voice is a constant in the dark. His older brother alternates from desperate pleas, to random stories and even to singing Metallica softly. He's trying to ground Sam—to give him a reason to stay with him—and Sam wonders if even Dean can stop the fire from destroying him.

_The fever, Dean, it's too damn high—_

How'd that Robert Frost poem go? "Some say the Earth shall end in fire, some say in ice . . ." Jessica had always loved that poem. Funny, she died by the fire as well. Maybe this was Sam's fate? Maybe he was supposed to have died all those years ago in his nursery.

_ —can't take him to a hospital, Bobby. They wouldn't know how to treat him._

So, Sam floats, sometimes being burned and other times being frozen.

But always listening to Dean.

* * *

When he comes too, the fire has been extinguished.

Dean is at his bedside, sporting the beginnings of a new beard and eyes red-rimmed. Sam grimly realizes that he's been crying. His brother doesn't speak for the longest time—just stares at Sam, as if he's sure that he's no more than an illusion.

"D'n?" His voice is raw, as if he's been screaming for a long time. Maybe he was when the flames had engulfed him. Before he can say anymore, his brother pulls him into a fierce hug. Sam's mouth falls open in shock, but he lets Dean hold him for as long as he needs to. Finally, after an eternity, Dean releases him. "What—?"

"The Wendigo bit you," His older brother's voice is soft, as if speaking louder will somehow break Sam. "And it infected you with something. You got a nasty fever there for a couple of days."

"How bad?" Dean's expression as he glances down says it all. The eldest Winchester has never been one with words, but honestly, Sam can read him like an open book. "That bad, huh?"

"Why the hell did you push me out of the way?" Dean's gaze is suddenly murderous, his tone furious and Sam is taken aback.

"It was going to get you—"

"That doesn't matter—!" Sam arches an eyebrow.

"So, what? Watching each other's backs doesn't go both ways?" Dean cards a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"I saw what was coming and I had to stop it."

"It almost killed you!" His older brother shouts, voice breaking as sheer grief fills those emerald orbs. "Jesus, Sam, for a bit there you stopped breathing and Bobby and I . . . we almost couldn't bring you back."

"But you did." Sam murmurs softly.

"But what if we—?"

"You saved me, Dean." He interjects quickly. "See? Fever's gone."

"That was too close—"

"We'll be more careful next time." Sam assures him. Suddenly exhausted, Sam leans back on the bed and lets his eyes fall shut. He can feel Dean's gaze still on him, waiting for him to suddenly get sick again. A small smile tugging on his lips, Sam adds, "And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Go get cleaned up," He orders gently. "You look like crap."

Sam holds his breath and waits.

Dean rewards him with a burst of laughter—pure, happy laughter.

"Dude, even like this, I'm still better looking than you!" Sam beams.

Everything is going to be okay, after all.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There you go! I tried to fit in as much as I could and I hope you guys enjoyed it! As always, please review and request! _


	16. Chapter 16: Beyond the Sea

_**Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! Hope you're doing well! Tonight's prompt is from __**SamWin98**__ who asked for, "so what about, Sam and Dean on a Titanic? You know, a giant, sinking boat. AND there'd be some kinda killer clown, also, for some reason trying to kill Sammy." This definitely one of the most challenging prompts I've received as it brought together two totally different ideas and meshed them together. Still, I enjoyed the challenge and I love the way it came out! I didn't put Dean on the ship though and I hope that's okay. I promise there is a good reason for it later in the chapter! Let's set this in season 2 somewhere? Please enjoy!_

* * *

"You know what your problem is, Sammy? You're way too serious!" The Trickster smirked from his perch on the railing of the ship. "You need to lighten up."

"Where's Dean?" He ground out, furious and wishing he could just kill the Trickster right here and now, but knowing that he couldn't. It had taken Dean and until Sam got his brother back, he wasn't going to take any unnecessary risks.

"God, you two really are brothers! He asked me the same thing about you." He exclaimed, eyes rolling. The sea breeze picked up speed and Sam could taste the salt on his lips. In any other situation, being on a luxury cruise ship in the somewhere in the Pacific would've thrilled him. He'd always loved the water, especially the ocean. There was something magical about it—how it made all your problems seem insignificant in comparison to it. Many times, he had gone to the beach just to think and stare out at the vast blue sea. "You know," The Trickster spun around on the railing and met Sam's gaze. "You should really be thanking me."

"Why's that?" Sam challenged, eyebrow raised.

"It's a free vacation!" He shouted. "I mean, when else would you get to do this?" The Trickster had a point, but that didn't matter to Sam. Vacation or not, he wanted his brother back at his side. He needed Dean with him. How could the Trickster even imply that Sam could enjoy this without his brother?

"What did you do with Dean?" The Trickster sighed and carded a hand through his hair.

"You try and do something nice for a guy and look what it gets you . . ." His voice trailed off and he shook his head before jumping onto the main deck. "Fine, here's what I'll do. If you can make it off this boat in the next 10 minutes in one piece, I'll take you to your brother."

"What happens in 10—?"

"Never mind that," The Trickster interjected. "Do we have a deal?" Sam pondered it for a few seconds, but knew his decision almost immediately. Who knew where Dean was and what the Trickster had done to him! If all Sam had to do was get off the ship, well he could handle that.

He could handle anything for Dean.

"Deal."

With a grin, the Trickster snapped his fingers and disappeared.

And that was when the ship's engines exploded.

* * *

It became pretty obvious that the Trickster's 10-minute challenge was the amount of time Sam had before the ship sank. Around him people frantically ran, calling for other family members while crewmembers tried to maintain a sense of order. The youngest Winchester was pretty sure this wasn't reality—he had to be caught in one of the Trickster's illusions—but he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for all the crying passengers.

_Get a move on, Sam! _

Dean's voice filled his mind and Sam steeled himself. He had to get off this boat to save Dean. He had to do it! Glancing around, he saw that the lifeboats had been quickly overwhelmed. He wouldn't be getting out that way and the front of the ship was currently burning thanks to the Trickster's explosion. As he was contemplating his options, peals of familiar laughter filed the night sky and Sam spun around to see the Trickster standing before him.

"Seven minutes, Sam." He smiled sinisterly. "And you not panicking is bringing down my mood, you know? I think we need to spice things up some more!" With that, he vanished once more and left a very confused Winchester in his wake.

"Dammit, think." He mumbled to himself. He could always jump off the railing, but if this wasn't an illusion . . .

He was about to take a step towards the lifeboats when the clown suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Fear coursed through Sam's veins and he felt frozen. God, this couldn't be happening, not again, not after the last time! With a sinister smile and a butcher's knife in his hand, the clown charged.

Sam fled.

* * *

There were only so many places you could hide on a sinking ship while alternatively trying to figure how to get off said ship without being killed. Currently, Sam had managed to ditch the clown by running through the throngs of people at the lifeboats. He was the other side of the ship and he glanced down at the choppy waves. He had bought himself a few precious seconds to think. How could he get off this sinking ship in one piece?

"Aw, look at him trying to concentrate!" The Trickster exclaimed mockingly, but Sam didn't deign to look at him. "Oh, don't tell me your mad! C'mon Sammy, I never said I would make this fair—"

"My name is Sam!" He spat, whirling on the Trickster, eyes filled with rage and sheer hate. He had never wanted to kill a supernatural being more than he wanted to kill the Trickster in that moment. If only he had the right weapons—

"Touchy," The Trickster retorted. "Well, three minutes then. Better get back to work." He disappeared right as the clown made his grand reappearance. Laughing sinisterly, the clown's hand with the knife shot out and Sam managed to dodge it. He attempted to disarm his greatest foe, but the clown was faster than he gave it credit for and the knife suddenly buried itself in his shoulder. Biting back a cry of pain, Sam pulled the knife out and used his remaining strength to stab the clown through the heart. With one final chuckle of laughter, it turned into a pile of dust. Relieved, Sam knew he had only once chance to get off this boat alive—he had to jump. Maybe the fall would kill him, maybe not, but he had to try and this was his only option. Blood dripping onto the deck, he managed to pull himself over the railing.

This could be it. He could die here.

Eyes closed, he let himself fall, thinking of only one person.

_Dean._

* * *

"Sam, son? Can you hear me?"

He awoke to Bobby hovering above him, the gruff hunter's concerned eyes scanning him. What was Bobby doing though? Was Dean—?

Dean. The Trickster. The boat. Falling into the ocean—

Instantly, he was up and flailing.

"Dean!" He called, voice hoarse. His gaze darted around the motel room but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Panic settled in Sam's stomach. Had the Trickster not upheld his half of the bargain? And if he hadn't, where was Dean now? Was he hurt or worse—?

"Sam, hey," Bobby's strong arms pushed him back down and Sam winced slightly at the pain that flared up in his shoulder. Shooting a quick glance to his left, Sam could see a white bandage covering his skin. So, he had gotten off the ship albeit with the injuries he sustained on it. "Relax, Dean just went to go get some more medicine." As soon as the words were out of Bobby's mouth, Dean returned. Seeing Sam awake and alert, he dropped the medicine on the table and sprinted over to his brother, even managing to forget to close the door.

"Sammy, you okay?" Sam stared up at his older brother with confused hazel eyes.

"What happened?" He managed to ask finally.

"The Trickster," Bobby supplied, having risen from his seat to close the door. "Found you two boys and it took you, Sam. After you were gone for a day, Dean called me to help search."

"Took me?" The youngest Winchester echoed. That couldn't be right. "No, it took Dean."

"Me?" Dean repeated, shock lacing his features. "It didn't take me."

"I don't understand." Sam mumbled, hopelessly confused.

"It did something to you, Sammy," Dean continued on with Bobby's recap. "We found you in this abandoned house. You were practically comatose." The eldest Winchester's eyes flashed darkly as hidden pain resurfaced. If Sam had been in Dean shoes—if he had not been able to wake Dean up—he knew that he wouldn't have been able to handle it.

"So, what was it?" Sam inquired.

"Far as I could tell, some sort of spell," Bobby answered, returning to Sam's beside. "It kept you locked in whatever illusion the Trickster was showing you while also giving you any injuries you suffered there."

"That's why my shoulder . . ." He let his voice trail off as comprehension dawned his foggy mind.

"Scared the shit out of us," Dean remarked softly. "You just started bleeding and—" Sam nodded his head and placed a weak hand on his brother's arm, offering silent comfort.

"How'd you break the spell?" Sam questioned.

"We didn't," Bobby muttered. "There's no counter spell."

_Do we have a deal? _

The Trickster must've upheld his half of the bargain then. With a weary sigh, Sam felt his eyelids droop. Stubbornly, he fought to keep them open, only for Dean to say to him, "Go to sleep, Sammy."

"Not tired." Sam mumbled, despite the waves of exhaustion hitting him full force.

"Stubborn kid." Bobby remarked fondly.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "But I think I'll keep him." That made Bobby chuckle dryly.

"Can hear you." Sam interjected.

"Sammy, seriously," His older brother began in his most soothing tone. "There's nothing to see here. Get some rest."

"Promise you won't go anywhere?" It was a childish thing to ask, but the fear he had felt of Dean being missing had been real. He had thought for a few seconds that he was all alone—that Dean had been hurt or worse. So what if that made him come across as a girl? He needed his brother's presence—he had to know that there was someone watching his back.

His older brother just laughed dryly before slipping his hand into Sam's and squeezing it.

"I'll be right here."

Sam just smiled before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, I hope you all enjoyed this! Please review and request if you have a moment! _


	17. Chapter 17: Lessons Learned

_**Author's Note: **__Look at this! I'm actually updating at a semi-early time! So, tonight's prompt comes from, __**supernaural fan**__, who asked for, "Sam with appendicitis." This was pretty straightforward which was nice for a change. I hope you enjoy it! Also, a heads up to everyone that left prompts, two days from now, I will be posting in a different order. Prompts that specifically have something to do with Christmas will be my main priority, as I want to get those stories done before Christmas arrives. After Christmas, I will go back to the order I had been following now (first come, first serve). Anyways, please enjoy this chapter! This is set in early season 5._

* * *

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_

_Let your heart be light_

_From now on,_

_Our troubles will be out of sight."_

—_Judy Garland, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"_

* * *

Working Christmas is often the easiest shift there is in the E.R.

Everyone is at home, enjoying their family and sharing a meal while listening to Bing Crosby sing and drinking hot chocolate in front of the roaring fire. The E.R. is dead during Christmas—it's almost eerie at times. Most people want Christmas off. Me, I love working Christmas. For one thing, I get paid overtime which is pretty sweet and for a second thing, it's not like I have any place to go on Christmas. My family situation is screwed up. I made some choices they didn't approve of and they threw me out.

But whatever.

It's not like I miss them or anything. I don't. Really, I could care less what they could be doing.

"Dr. Benson?" I spun around and nearly collided in Sharon, the charge nurse. She smirked as she twirled the strand of ornament lights she was wearing around her finger. "I'm going to head to the cafeteria. You want something?"

"No, thank you." She nodded and then vanished out the double doors that led to the rest of the hospital. I sighed and plopped into the one of the chairs that was currently vacant behind the Nurses' station. Pulling out my black hairband, I carded a hand through my blonde hair before quickly putting it back in a ponytail.

"Y'all right, Marina?" I glanced to my side to see Paul Wesley, one of the other doctors here at Sacred Coeur General Hospital. He was originally from Texas and was new to California. My family would've even approved of him had they met him . . .

"Just lost in thought." I answered with a tired grin. He nodded.

"Christmas will do that to do." He replied all knowingly. Then, coughing slightly, he shifted nervously before managing to start, "Look, I don't know if you're, um, busy tomorrow, but if you want—?"

He didn't get to finish for the next thing I knew the door burst opened and a man in a trench coat dragged in a much taller man who was clutching his side and doubled over in pain. I rose from the station and quickly rushed over to them. Catching the other side of the super tall guy, I helped maneuver them to one of the waiting room chairs.

"Paul, I need a gurney!" I shouted and he was immediately gone. Turing to the oddly dressed man in the trench coat, I checked him visually for any injuries. Finding none, I let my focus return to the man currently moaning in pain. "I'm Dr. Benson. I'm going to be treating you okay?" If he heard or understood me, he made no sign of it and I inwardly grimaced. "Sir? What's your name?"

"Sam." The man in the trench coat told me, eyes full of concern, but his facial expression stoic. "His name is Sam."

"Okay, Sam?" There. Sam lifted his head up and fought to meet my gaze. His pain had to be intense—an 8 at least—and judging from the way he was holding abdomen, it was localized. "I'm going to get you treated, all right? What happened?"

"Side," He ground out through clenched teeth, pain lines etched onto his facial expression. "My side hurts." He moaned and I cursed softly in my mind. Where the hell was Paul with the gurney? If Sam had what I thought he had, we were running out of time. The doors opened and Sharon appeared, coffee in her hand. Seeing the situation, she promptly placed the cup on the desk and began to push monitors over to Sam, hooking him up to each. Checking the monitors, I was relieved to see that while his heart rate was elevated, Sam was otherwise doing okay.

"Dr. Benson?" Sharon questioned, waiting for orders.

"Get Dr. Lacey on the phone," I told her urgently. "Surgery needs to be on call."

"Yes!" With that, Sharon rushed out the doors once more.

"Surgery?" The man in the trench coat echoed.

"Just in case," I replied swiftly. Rule #1 of medicine—never worry the patient's family unnecessarily. "Listen, what were Sam's symptoms before he came in?" A blank look and I controlled my rising anger. We were running out of time! "Fever or something like that?" A flash of comprehension dawned in the man's eyes.

"He complained of pain and then vomited," He reported dutifully. "Shortly after that, he came down with a fever and the pain increased ten-fold."

"And you are?" I questioned, nodding to myself as I pushed on Sam's side, eliciting a shout of pain from him. Apologizing quickly, I faced the man once more.

"Castiel." The name was odd, but I didn't have time to dwell on it.

"Okay, Castiel," I stood and directed some other nurses to help transport Sam to the gurney that Paul had finally managed to get his hands on. Tomorrow, I was going to reorganize this department. Honestly, taking that long to find something as simple as a gurney! "Listen, I'm going to take good care of Sam."

"What ails him?" My eyebrow twitched at the archaic phrasing, but I moved past it.

"I believe it is appendicitis, but I have to run a few more tests to be sure." Another blank stare.

"What is . . . appendicitis?" Sharon reappeared by my side.

"Surgery is prepping as we speak." She reported.

"Good, take Mr . . .?"

"Winchester." Castiel completed.

"Take Mr. Winchester down to get a CT scan." She nodded and rolled Sam away and out the double doors.

"Will he be okay?" The man sounded worried—frightened even—and I couldn't blame him. Watching someone you cared about being forced to confront something you couldn't help them face . . . it was a horrible feeling. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I smiled—a real, honest-to-God smile.

"I'm going to take good care of him."

He nodded.

* * *

"Dean," Castiel whispered into the Nurses' station desk's phone. Apparently, his cellphone had gotten smashed in some freak accident. Honestly, I hadn't really understood what he had been saying, but I readily offered him the phone. It wasn't like anyone else was going to use it. The E.R. was still as dead as it had been before Sam had arrived. "He's in surgery." A pause and Castiel grimaced at whatever this Dean guy was saying. "You should not blame yourself. You could not have known—" A loud voice cut him off and he sighed wearily. "I would, but my strength is still recovering after getting Sam here." He waited as Dean spoke once more. "Yes. I will call when I hear more." Placing the phone in the receiver, I glanced at the clock once more. An hour had passed since Sam had gone into surgery and I secretly prayed that his appendix hadn't burst. For some reason, I felt connected to Sam and Castiel.

"Is he on his way?" I asked quietly and Castiel nodded his head.

"He will be here within a few hours."

"Good."

An awkward pause passed. With no patients to see, I was left with just Castiel to talk to. Many of the nurses had vanished, tending to other patients on other floors or getting some cake from the cafeteria.

"Tell me, Dr. Benson," Castiel's face was suddenly inches from mine and I almost jumped back, I was so startled. "Why are you working on Christmas?" It was a simple question, one that I could've answered with a million different responses. I could've lied, I could've been vague; but instead, I felt compelled to tell him the truth.

"My family and I . . . we're not on speaking terms." He considered this thoughtfully before once again meeting my gaze.

"Sam has an older brother—Dean—and the two of them are not on speaking terms." Confusion filled my face.

"But Dean is on his—?"

"It took his brother being sick to snap him out of the way he had been acting," Castiel explained. Then, even more serious than I thought was possible, he faced me and added, "Do not let it be that way for you." Ordinarily, I'd have dismissed this with a simple, fake polite smile and a nod. If I were really upset about it, I would've told this man to mind his own business.

As it was though, I knew Castiel was right. He may be a weird guy with a strange name, but he was right.

"Dr. Benson?" Sharon stood in the doorway, a grim expression on her face. "It's Mr. Winchester."

I was up and running before she could even finish.

* * *

"So, here's where we stand." I started, forcing my voice to remain steady as I stood at the foot of Sam's bed. He slept on, though the pain lines were evident even though he was in the realm of unconsciousness, and the sheen of fever glistened on his forehead. He was ill—the fever was already reaching 103 and still climbing—and I wondered if this would be the patient that would haunt me forever if I lost him.

No. I wouldn't lose him. Sam Winchester was walking out this hospital alive.

Castiel sat in a chair on the left side of Sam's bed, his eyes never leaving his friend's frame. He had grown increasingly quiet since we had been informed of Sam's complications and I wondered what he was thinking.

"While Sam doesn't have peritonitis, which is a far worse complication from appendicitis, his heart rate is too quick for my liking and his fever is too high." Castiel nodded, ever the silent guardian. "I've administered some antibiotics and hopefully, they'll curb the fever. We will just have to wait and see now."

Another nod.

Frowning, I exited the room, but heard a slight voice whisper,

"Please, Sam. Do not give up."

* * *

"Where the hell is my brother!" An angry voice growled and I instantly abandoned my coffee and bolted to the main lobby, where Sharon was attempting to prevent a man with green eyes filled with fury from storming the recovery rooms.

"Sir, please—!" Sharon exclaimed.

"No, you tell me where he is right now, you—!"

"Enough!" I interjected and almost comically, the duo froze, their eyes darting over to me. Arms folded across my chest, I stepped towards them. "Sir, please calm yourself. I don't take kindly to my staff being harassed, regardless of the cause." A bit of my logic sunk in and he sheepishly let his head fall down, almost in a form of apology. "Who are you looking for?"

"My brother Sam—"

"You're Dean?" I questioned softly and he nodded his head vigorously. "I'm Dr. Benson. Follow me then." On the way to Sam's room, I explained what had occurred and how the fever had gone due to the antibiotics. "We still need to a keep an eye on it." Then, we were at Sam's door and Castiel rose from the seat at Sam's beside.

"Dean." He greeted solemnly. Dean didn't seem to notice; however, he had only eyes for his sick little brother. Grabbing Sam's hand within his own, he slowly sat down into the second chair on Sam's other side.

"Sammy." He murmured, summoning both affection and grief in his tone. Feeling like I was increasingly intruding on a private moment, I turned away and walked down the hall.

Castiel said they hadn't been on speaking terms, yet Dean's reaction at seeing his brother like that? It had spoke volumes. There was a clear bond between those brothers—anyone could see that. If they were fighting, I had no doubt it would pass. They would somehow move on.

I just wish it were that simple for my own family.

* * *

"Dude, you were crying!" Dean exclaimed.

"Was not." Came Sam's weak retort.

"No, Sam, I remember, okay?" His older brother continued. "You sobbed your eyes out when we saw _Bambi_!" Castiel tilted his head to the side in utter confusion.

"What is _Bambi_?" Dean sighed exasperatedly and I took that as my cue to enter the room. Sam had made an almost miraculous recovery in the few hours he had been on the medicine. The fever had broken, his heart rate had returned to normal and the best part was that he wasn't in pain anymore.

"How are we doing, Sam?" I questioned, a small smile on my lips.

"Great." Sam murmured, still exhausted. Still, that was normal with patients who had endured so much stress in the course of one day.

"No pain?"

"None." Dean replied and Sam shot him a weak glare. Dean just chuckled.

"Okay, that's great," I replied, jotting it down in his chart. "At this rate, you'll be able to go home tomorrow." A knowing look passed between Castiel and Dean. "Is there anything else I can do for you? My shift is about to end." I had been so wrapped up with Sam that time had flown by. "Dr. Warner will be looking after you, but he's highly experienced and I trust his judgment."

"Good." Dean remarked and I reluctantly turned and walked out of the room. "Uh, Dr. Benson?" I spun around and caught Dean standing a few feet away from me in the hallway.

"Yes?"

"Castiel told me all the work you did for Sam," His voice was kind and quiet—two things that I would've never described him as upon my first meeting with him. Still, people were great mysteries, weren't they? They always showed different sides of themselves. "I wanted to thank you."

I beamed. I was rarely thanked for my work. Shouted at, threatened? Yes. Thanked? No.

"It was my pleasure." He pulled out a card and pressed it into my palm.

"If you ever need help." Dean told me simply before returning to Sam's room. I glanced at the card—it had only his phone number on it. What had he meant by help? Still, without even entertaining the thought of discarding the card, I slipped it into my pocket.

* * *

The next morning, they were gone. Vanished into the night, so the PM shift had reported. They had no insurance according to financial. As I stepped into what had been Sam's room up until a few hours ago, I considered what I had seen and Castiel's words.

Pulling out my cellphone and taking a deep breath in, I dialed the number.

"Mom? It's me, Marina."

I never forgot the lesson they taught me that day.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And there you go! I really liked this chapter as we got to see some Castiel comforting Sam rather than Dean. While I love Dean comforting Sam, sometimes it's nice to have a change. Anyways, please let me know what you think! Review and request please! _


	18. Chapter 18: Reason to Fight

_**Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! So, just a reminder that tomorrow, I will begin posting the prompts that deal exclusively with Christmas. After Christmas, I will return to the order I had been going in (first come, first serve). So, for tonight, we have a prompt from __**Jeanny**__, who asked for "__Teenchesters with Sam getting sick but John just thinking he's sulking and making them stay out all night hunting in the cold, Sam getting sicker and then hurt and lots of guilty!John after. You can pick what side Dean's on, either guilty of ignoring Sam or 'I told you so' or if he wasn't there just mad at John later." John is always a fun, yet challenging character to write so thank you for this prompt! This also marks the first time I've written in Sam's POV. I liked how it came out! Sam here is 14 and Dean is 19. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Dean asks me from his bed as he packs the last of his stuff in his duffel. His green eyes scan me critically before returning back to the various knives that he's now slipping into the bag. I suppress a sigh and pull myself up from the bed. Yeah, I'm not exactly feeling my best, but it's just a head cold. My nose isn't even stuffy and the only problem I'm facing is that my head feels like it weighs a million pounds. If I told Dad about it, he would tell me to suck it up—if he was even listening to me at the time. A grimace slips onto my face, but as quickly as it comes on, I force it back.

"I'm fine, Dean." I tell him seriously. He's off to Pastor Jim's for the week to brush up on his Latin and study some new exorcising techniques. He's been psyched ever since Dad told him he could go—Pastor Jim, while strict, had often let us get away with murder whenever we had gone to visit, provided we had done our work. My first memory of the kindly man was him sneaking me a cookie after Dad told me that I couldn't have one. He was different than Uncle Bobby—more refined—but he, like Uncle Bobby, had a heart of gold and had bailed us out numerous times. Plus, Pastor Jim was in Florida at the moment, helping out some congregation there and I had no doubt that Dean was excited to head to the beach and see all the girls.

Growing up, my brother had sacrificed so much for me. I wouldn't cause him any more trouble—he deserved to go on this vacation.

"You're sure? Because I can stay if—" I smile, because I know that if I asked him to, Dean would stay in a heartbeat. All I had to do was say the word and my older brother would call Pastor Jim right now and tell him he couldn't come.

"Go." I say with a grin.

He reaches out and ruffles my hair, a silent gesture of thanks.

"And if you need me—" Dean informs me for about the 100th time since he loaded up the Impala.

"I'll call, Dean." I reply dutifully. Dad sighs wearily and I can tell he's growing tired of our prolonged goodbye. Dean seems to notice this and a dark expression fills his face for the briefest of seconds before vanishing.

"See you later, Sammy." He gets into the car and grins at me before pulling away and leaving me with the one person I hated being around by myself—my dad. Recently, Dad and I hadn't been getting along. We seemed to fight over everything and it wasn't like I was trying to be difficult or anything. It's just . . . sometimes, I picture my life away from hunting. It's a normal—safe—life where I end up graduating from college and getting married to some beautiful girl with Dean as my best man and Dad happily watching from the front aisle. I get a successful career and I have kids that Dean spoils behind my back. There's never any talk of demons, never any need to put down the salt line.

It's just my family and me.

That's what I want in life. I don't want to be killed by something hidden the night. I don't want to spend my whole life moving from one motel room to another. I want a house to make a home in. I want Dean to live past his 30th birthday, I want Dad to move on from Mom's death and more than anything, I want all of us to be happy together.

It's just a dream though—that's what my dad would say if I told him. He would remind me of how my mother died to protect me, of how my mission in life was to avenge her and to kill the demon that had done this to our family.

I don't remember Mom at all. Sometimes, when I'm really sick or something, Dean will tell me stories about her. She sounds like she was perfect and I wish that I could've remembered something about her. When I was younger, I used to spend hours imagining things about her—how her eyes would light up whenever she saw me, how soft her arms would be when she held me—but as much as I imagined I knew her, deep down I knew that I would never know her like the rest of my family did. Dad and Dean are lucky in this way. At least they know whom they're fighting for.

I don't.

I never will.

"Let's get a move on, Sam." Dad's voice is gruff, but determined not to get into a fight while Dean's away, I choose not to comment upon it and instead get into the car. "We've got a job a few hours from here."

I nod my head and allow my eyes to close.

I dream of what Mom would say if she knew about my desire to be freed from hunting.

* * *

The next morning, my head feels like someone put a drill in it. The slightest movement and the drill fills my skull with the sharpest pain I've ever experienced. I feel like crap and even though it's childish, I wish Dean were here. He's always been able to fix things—to make me better immediately—but he's on vacation.

He deserves this. I won't take it away from him.

"Sam." I freeze, wondering if I could get away with just pretending to be asleep. But before I have a chance, Dad comes over and gently shakes my shoulder, which, in turn, jostles my head.

Blinding pain consumes me, and my vision whites out for a few seconds before I can finally make out my father's form, staring down at me. Biting my lower lip to prevent any whimpers of pain from escaping my lips, I push myself up.

"We need to go now?" I whisper, knowing the answer, but feeling the need to try.

"Yeah," Dad replies, lacing his boots. "We've got to check out the woods and find the bastard before it gets someone else."

Great. Knowing my dad we'll not only be out there all day, but all night too. Whatever it takes to get the monster. Never mind the sacrifices that we have to make to achieve his goal, never mind how I feel. What Dad says is law. We have to obey him. What kind of soldiers would we be if we didn't?

Anger consumes me, filling my veins and boiling up under my skin.

"I don't want to go." It comes out of my mouth in a jumble of words, but I'm proud for saying it. I've been tiptoeing around my dad for far too long. If I wanted out of hunting, then I was going to have to make a stand.

"What did you say?" Dad seems almost puzzled.

"I'm not going." I repeat slowly.

"The hell you are!" Dad growls, rising from the bed and tugging me up from my own. "If you think I'm just going to let you mope around because your brother left—"

"I don't feel good!" I protest, wrapping my arms around my chest, as my heart seems to leap into my mind, beating away like the loudest drum I've ever heard. It's awful. But, for once, I'm trying to be honest with my dad and in all honestly, I don't feel well enough to go wandering around in a forest looking for who-knew-what.

"Nice try," Dad remarks with a sigh. "Now, you have five minutes to get ready and get your ass outside."

With that, my dad exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

So much for that.

* * *

It's been hours.

We've been wandering around in this empty forest in 40-degree weather and we've come up with nothing. My head cold has seemed to take the cold as an invitation to take up residence in the rest of me. My nose is stuffed up, my eyes keep welling up with tears and my lungs feel tight. I want nothing more than to curl up under the covers and sleep for a week.

But, Dad will have none of that.

"You just miss Dean." Dad says simply, as if that can explain away all my symptoms. "You two need to learn that life goes on whether you're together or not."

"But Dad—"

"Enough, Sam," My father spats, eyes hardening in rage. "Until we find this son of a bitch, we're not going back. Now, you can either sulk or do your job!"

We keep looking.

Eventually, day fades into night. We've been out here at least 14 hours and we still haven't picked up a trace on whatever it is we're hunting. I'm about to open my mouth to say something, when I hear it—the crunch of leaves. I spin around to see that Dad has already pulled out his gun and he has it trained on where the noise came from. Suddenly, the figure bursts from the bushes, snarling. I can't tell what it is in the dim light, but the silver bullets Dad is firing seem to doing the trick. It stumbles back and bellows, as if he's cursing the heavens for his fate. I keep my gun trained on him, but let Dad take the lead. My vision is slightly blurred—partly from the long hours and partly from the cold—but I use every ounce of strength to keep my eyes open and focused on the creature. I'm pretty sure it's a Wendigo, but you could never know—

"Sam!"

Dad's shout comes a second too late for before I know it, the monster has its arms around my neck. Squeezing tightly, my throat constricts and I feel my lungs constrict from the lack of airflow. I fight back, but my vision begins to fade as the lack of oxygen kicks in.

My eyes shut.

_I wish Dean were here._

* * *

Unconsciousness is a funny thing.

One minute you're awake and doing things and the next, you're trapped in this dark void. You're left hanging there, floating in space and while it's not exactly painful, it's also not comforting in the least.

_Dammit, Dad! If he was sick, why didn't you—?  
How the hell was I supposed to know! He didn't say anything and you weren't there, Dean! _

Whenever I'm at school—which I try to go to as much as possible—I often wonder what other people's families are like. Do they fight? Do they have dinners promptly at 5:30pm around a huge table? Do they hate each other? Don't get me wrong, I love my family—really, I do—it's just sometimes I can't help but wonder what life would be like if things were different. If Mom was alive, for example, or if Dad had decided to quit hunting.

—_should've never left you with him! _

_Watch your mouth! I am his father—!_

_And look what a great job you did! He almost died tonight because you didn't __listen to him!_

In all my hypothetical scenarios, we're all very happy. Too happy, probably, but hey, I'll take it. It's better than the anger and the grief that seems to plague us.

_S'okay, Sammy. I've got you._

Still . . . if we were a normal family, I wonder if Dean and I would still be as close.

Probably not.

* * *

"Hey there, Sammy." Dean's sporting a tired grin and I wonder how long I've been out. We're at the motel room—I hate hospital visits—but seeing how my brother is back, at least 12 hours must've passed.

"D'n?" I wheeze, wincing at how my throat feels like sandpaper. Quickly, Dean offers me some water and I greedily gulp it down before he takes the cup away. Drinking too fast tends to make me sick.

"How are you feeling?" He's serious now and I wonder just how close I cut it. Dad's MIA, which means that Dean probably kicked him out. While Dean may be Dad's perfect little soldier, he did tend to get into arguments when it came to my well being.

"S'hurts." I manage to get out before dissolving into a cough.

"Yeah, I know kiddo," He shoots me a sympathetic smile before helping me get more comfortable on the bed. "The Skinwalker really did a number on you."

"Florida?"

"I didn't go." He tells me and I grimace. This was supposed to be his vacation. As I look away, a firm hand slips within mine and squeezes it. Dean usually avoids such physical contact—it's a "chick-flick" moment after all—and that fact that he's holding my hand gives me an indication on just how close it came.

Apparently, way too close.

"Hey," He starts seriously. "We can go next time."

"Your vacation." I pout and he chuckles dryly at my expression.

"Dude, after this, I think you need a vacation too." I smile. The door then creaks open and Dad steps in, sheepishly glancing over at Dean and me. My brother regards him coolly—they must still be fighting—but makes no motion to get rid of him. Dad crosses to the bed and affectionately cards a hand through my hair.

"How're you doing, Sammy?" He murmurs and all the anger I felt earlier disappears. True, I didn't want to hunt in the long run. I want out of this life, but for the moment, I'm stuck here. I may have lost my mom, but I had a father and a brother who cared for me. I was lucky in that way.

"M'okay, Dad." I wheeze and he frowns.

"Dean, a moment?" It's not an order, but a question. It's rare that my father asks for something and doesn't demand it. The fight he and Dean had must've been bad—bad enough that Dad felt like he had to get Dean's permission to be by my side alone. Slowly, Dean nods and rises from his seat next to the bed.

"Five minutes." He grinds out before stepping outside. With a world-weary sigh, Dad plops into the chair and meets my gaze.

"Sam . . ." His voice is soft and gentle—the utter antithesis to how my Dad usually was—and his eyes are filled with nothing but sadness. "I never should've let you go out there like that." He sucks in a breath, like the admission is a punch to his gut. Or maybe his pride? It's not often that the famous John Winchester is humbled by something. "I should've listened to you, Sam."

"What happened?" I manage to ask and Dad's eyes well up with grief.

"The Skinwalker got you," Dad replied quietly. "I killed it, but by the time it was dead, you were . . ." His voice faltered as if he was unsure if he wanted to recount this next part. "You weren't breathing son."

Well, that explained Dean and Dad's reactions when I woke up.

"Am now." I told him, feeling the need to comfort him somehow.

"But you weren't!" He shouted and I flinched back in surprise. "God, I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Dad—"

"I should've listened to you—"

"But Dad—"

"And then none of this would've ever happened."

And then, I saw my father do something he never did—cry.

The famous, badass hunter John Winchester had a few tears rolling down his cheeks. Without another word, I placed my hand on top of his and smiled at him, like Dean had told me that he used to do whenever Dad had returned from a bad hunt.

"S'okay, Dad." I told him.

He just held my hand and kept crying, muttering broken apologies.

* * *

Sometimes, I think about just walking out the door of whatever motel room is currently serving as home and never looking back. I mean, what kind of life is this? I don't want to die—I don't want to be forced to see my family members die. Yet, I stay because Dean and my dad are all I have. They need me and I just can't abandon them.

But sometimes, right before I fall asleep, I picture Mom the way I think she would look now and tell her about my problems. She always listens and grins before answering. When I tell her about how I died and came back, Mom just sighs before saying,

"You'll have to walk away eventually, Sam. It's the only way to get what you want."

A normal, safe life.

She's right—even though deep down, I know she's just a figment of my imagination—but just one glance at Dean as he sings loudly off-key as we drive in the Impala or Dad as he actually lets loose and watches a movie with us, stops me in my tracks.

I will walk away. If I want to get out, I'll have to do it.

I just don't know if I can bear walking away from them.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned into a bit of a Sam-angst piece, but still, I loved how it came out and I hope you did too! Tomorrow, please get ready for the Christmas prompts! And as always, please review and request! _


	19. Chapter 19: Perfect

_**Author's Note: **__Good evening everyone! So, welcome to the beginning of exclusively Christmas chapters! I have gotten eight Christmas prompts, which means I will still post one chapter a day, but on Christmas, I will post two as an extra gift to all of you. Now, for this to work, I will have to close requests that have to deal with Christmas. Again, __**I WILL NOT BEING TAKING ANYMORE PROMPTS THAT DEAL WITH CHRISTMAS**__. I do still take prompts that have to do with New Year's or anything else besides Christmas. So, if you still want to see your prompt turned into a story, submit! Just know that I won't get around to it until after Christmas! To everyone else that submitted a non-Christmas prompt, I will get back to you right after Christmas. The next person in line to get his or her prompt fulfilled after Christmas is __**putmoneyinthypurse**__ and everyone else will be fulfilled in that first come, first serve order. I will be closing this story to general prompts on December 24__th__! So, if you have a prompt, submit soon! This story won't be around forever. _

_ Now that we've gotten that out of the way, to start off the next eight chapters of Christmas fun, here's a prompt from __**AliRose **__who asked for a teen!chester story that goes like this, "Sam does everything he can to make a perfect Christmas for Dean and his dad, only to be disappointed when his dad doesn't return in time as promised. Dean comforts him and gives him something special for Christmas. I'm a sap, so some crying involved wouldn't be the worst thing." This was really fun for me to write! Thanks for the prompt! I hope you enjoy! Sam is 13 here and Dean is 18. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_If there was a way_

_I'd hold back these tears_

_But it's Christmas day_

_Baby, please come home."_

—_Death Cab For Cutie, "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"_

* * *

"And look after—"

"Sammy, I know." Dean interjected with a lazy grin as his father stood in the doorway of their current motel room. He was heading off on a hunt with Bobby—a vengeful spirit that wasn't too hard to get rid of, but still it was better to hunt in pairs than alone. John gripped his duffel and nodded sharply before stepping outside.

"Dad?" A soft voice from within called and John turned around to see his youngest. Frowning at just how scrawny his youngest looked, he waited for whatever it was that Sam needed to say. Shifting uncomfortably, Sam glanced down at the ants marching on the cement before finally gather up the courage to finish his thought. "Will you be back in time for Christmas?"

John paused.

Oh, right. Christmas was in three days. He had forgotten completely.

Sam awaited his answer with baited breath and wide eyes.

"Of course, kiddo," He replied, an easy smile tugging on his lips at seeing the sheer delight his response brought his youngest. "Now, be careful."

With that, he got into the Impala and drove away.

You know those super elaborate Christmases they have in those Hallmark or Lifetime movies? You know, with the 20ft tree with the perfect amount of lights and ornaments and then at the end of the movie, the happy family—because they were always happy—would sit around the tree and open presents? That was the kind of Christmas that Sam planned to have with Dean and his father. True, there were some limitations—he didn't have the money or space for the tree and it wasn't like he could cook a huge feast—but he was determined to make the most of it. Just this one time, he wanted Dean and his dad to forget about their troubles and just enjoy the moment.

And Sam was going to make it happen.

"What's going on in that geeky brain of yours?" Dean asked curiously as Sam dragged in two bags of items that he had hidden under his jacket and a shirt.

"Nothing." His little brother replied quickly. "I'm, uh, not doing anything."

"Uh-huh." Dean said skeptically, but Sam shot him a glare and the older Winchester brother quieted. Then, standing from the table, he headed to the door. "I'm going to get some food. You want something?" Sam practically pushed him outside.

"Take your time!" He exclaimed as he slammed the door behind Dean.

Dean just chuckled.

* * *

It was perfect.

Sam was beyond proud. While his brother had stepped out, the youngest Winchester had put his plan in motion. He had assembled a small, fake Christmas tree that he had found and then wrapped some garland around it. There were a few presents under the tree—a knife for Dad, a jacket for Dean, along with some other stuff—and using his famous puppy dog looks, Sam had even scored a discounted dinner for Christmas at the local diner. This was shaping up to be one of the best Christmases ever and Sam couldn't wait until John walked through the door and saw everything.

It would be amazing.

They would be normal, if only for a day.

Sam couldn't wait.

* * *

"You're sure?" Dean mumbled, eyes locked on Sam as the kid sat motionless on the bed, eyes downcast, and expression downtrodden. He looked absolutely miserable and it broke his heart to see his little brother like that. "You won't be back at—?"

_"Dean," _John interjected sharply. _"Look, this spirit turned out to be tougher than Bobby and I thought. I can't just go. Now, I'll call you in the morning." _He didn't even say goodbye before the he disconnected the line and Dean sighed wearily. Well, this was just great. Sam had been looking forward to Christmas for weeks now—hell, given all the effort Sam had put in, he had deserved to be so excited—and now his hopes had been crushed once again.

John always left Dean to pick up the pieces.

"Sam?"

No response—not even a twitch. Slowly, Dean sat down the bed, next to his brother and tried to think of what he could say that would make this situation right? Dad's an ass? You've still got me? Christmas is stupid anyways? Somehow . . . Dean knew all of those responses wouldn't work.

It was the glint of the light hitting the tear tracks on Sam's face that sprung the older brother into action. Sam was biting his lower lip to hold in a sob, but the tears continued to roll down his cheeks and Dean's heart ached for his little brother. No kid should have to go through this every year. It wasn't right.

"Aw, Sammy."

Gently, he pulled his little brother to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. As if he knew that this was a free pass—that Dean wouldn't judge or mock him about it—Sam began to sob. Grimacing, Dean just held him through it all.

He may not have had the right words to say to Sam, but he could sure as hell be his rock in the storm.

* * *

"Open it."

Sam glanced down with his red-rimmed eyes at the present that Dean had placed in his lap. Curiously, he began to tear off the newspaper wrapping paper and then gasped when the present finally revealed itself.

"You didn't." Sam breathed, shock dripping from his tone that he turned over the leather bound book in his hand.

"Hell yeah, I did." His older brother replied cockily. "You like it?"

"I love it." Sam whispered. It was the _Complete Collection of Sherlock Holmes_ that he had fallen in love with a few towns back. It had been; however, extremely expensive and he couldn't remember Dean ever going back to that specialty bookstore to get it.

"I'm glad." He told his brother; wearing the coat that Sam had gotten him. It had fit perfectly, which made the youngest Winchester proud of his superior guessing skills. His brother rarely fit into clothes. They were either too long or too short, but this jacket was perfect—as if it had been made for him—and seeing it on him, Sam couldn't help but beam. "So, I think this went pretty well, huh?" Sam, while still disappointed by his father's absence, nodded his head. True, he didn't get the perfect Christmas like he had wanted.

But he had Dean.

He had a brother that would hold him while he cried in one minute and then in the next, gently tease him up he felt normal again. He had a roof over his head and a stash of great books. All in all, Sam Winchester was pretty lucky. And yes, he would always long for that "perfect" Christmas, but maybe there was a reason why they only appeared in Hallmark movies. Maybe Christmas was meant to be screwed up in some sort of fashion. Maybe, Christmas was about celebrating with the people that helped you pick up the pieces after disaster struck. With a lightness in his heart, Sam grinned as he stood up from the bed and rushed to the door, his brother instantly behind him.

"Let's get some pie!" Sam exclaimed, just happy to be sharing this moment with his brother.

"Sure thing," Dean replied, clearly excited. "Do you think they have cherry?" Sam nodded his head and then, before he could change his mind, he threw his arms around his brother and embraced him. Dean stiffened for a second before returning the hug.

"Merry Christmas Dean." Sam whispered.

Dean just held him tighter.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed! Please review and request if you have a second! _


	20. Chapter 20: My Heart Skips a Beat

_**Author's Note: **__Hi there! I'm so happy to be sharing this chapter with you all! So, this is from __**AshleyMarie84**__, who asked for, "Set in season 8- Things are still tense for the boys, so Christmas morning pretty much goes unnoticed by Dean. Sam of course doesn't feel the need to remind him, what does it matter anyway? After all the things Dean said about him under the influence of the spectre, he doesn't even think his brother cares about him anymore. Later that day somehow Dean finds out that Sam has been hiding a serious illness from him (heart condition is my fave) that he got diagnosed with shortly after Dean vanished to Purgatory. Instead of Sam telling him about it when he got back he just let Dean believe he didn't look for him, when in fact, he spent most of his time in the hospital. Cue extremely worried, mother-hen, and guilty Dean, while still being pisssed at Sam for not telling him. Lots of hugs and cuddles ensue (just gen brotherly fluff). Maybe show a couple days worth of Dean fussing over him." Thank you so much for giving me a prompt that lets me deal with season 8! I, like a lot of other people, do not enjoy the boys fighting and this helped me out a lot! I hope you enjoy! Please note that I am neither a doctor nor a medical professional. My information here probably isn't completely correct, but just go with it, okay? This is set after "Southern Comfort". Please enjoy!_

* * *

Once upon a time, Christmas used to be the best day ever.

It used to be a day full of funny presents, a nice meal and laughing at cheesy Christmas movies until dawn. It had been a day where he and Dean forgot about whatever trouble they were in—be that an impending deal or the apocalypse—and just enjoyed their company. Christmas had been special to Sam Winchester. The day held the promise of finding solace in his older brother's presence and gave him a chance to let down his guard. It was half mini-vacation, half party.

It had used to be almost magical.

This Christmas morning held nothing but unspoken barbs and saddened gazes. They had no decorations up in their current motel room and no stupid movies on TV. While Sam had gotten his brother a gift, he wasn't sure whether he should give it to Dean or not. Especially considering how his brother didn't even seem to know it was Christmas. He went about the room, methodically packing his clothes in his duffel. It was time to leave this stupid town and find another hunt, one that didn't include specters of any kind.

_Dean's hardened eyes glared murderously at him as he pointed the gun at his chest. Voicing rising in fury, his brother spat,_

"_Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you've __ever__ been!"_

Dean's words haunted him this Christmas morning, sucking any joy that Sam had used to feel and replacing it with melancholy and frustration. He had thought Dean was dead. He had been all alone in that warehouse and he had remained hours after the last battle, looking for a clue or a lead or a trace that would lead him to his brother.

He had found no such thing.

And then, he had driven—no destination in mind, just the open road. He had realized in that moment that Crowley had been right. He had no one in the world. Everyone he knew had died. There was no one to turn to ask for help, no one to give advice and offer him a friendly hand.

There had just been Sam and the open road.

He chanced a glance at Dean, but his brother was too busy tossing his shirts into his duffel to notice. Sam sighed and headed to the door.

"I'm going out." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

His older brother said nothing.

Sam stepped outside and began to walk. A few minutes of clearing his head might help him recover. So, he put one foot in front of the other and just began to head down to the corner of the street.

It wasn't like Dean would miss him anyways.

* * *

Dean cleaned the motel room with a focused efficiency that he had perfected during his stay in Purgatory. He was the ultimate hunter now—sharp sense, perfect reflexes and not to mention that he had become pretty adapt with a sword—and though all he could think about was hunting, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his conscious piped up about how he should set things right with Sam. Specter or not, Sam had heard some pretty harsh things come out of his brother's mouth. True, he believed that his little brother had deserved to hear some of it—ditching your only family for a girl? Who the hell did that?—Dean did admit that maybe things had been taken too far.

Then again, Sam was a big boy. He could handle himself. He obviously didn't need Dean around to—

A flash of white caught his eye from Sam's duffel. Stopping, he dropped the shirt he had been handling on the bed and crossed to his brother's bag. Cautiously glancing at the door, he stuck his hand down into the bag and pulled out what looked to be prescription bottle. Eyeing it oddly, Dean titled it so he could read the label—maybe Sam had gotten migraines again—and was even more taken aback when he finished.

This bottle wasn't to treat migraines.

It was medicine to treat high blood pressure and nestled next to that bottle was a container full of aspirin. Even more confused than before, he dumped out his brother's duffel looking for some clue as to what the medicines were for. There had to be some reason, right? Or maybe they weren't even Sam's? Yeah, his name was on both bottles but stranger things had happened and it wouldn't be the first time—

"Dean?"

He froze. Sam stood in the doorway, mouth open in almost a comical pose and Dean honestly wasn't sure what to say. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Sam was there, pushing his older brother aside and grabbing the bottles.

"What are those?" He finally managed to ask. Sam glared at him. If the situation wasn't so grave and the air so full of anger, Dean might've made a joke about it.

"They're medicines." His little brother avoided, stuffing both bottles into his jeans.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean retorted. "Sam, seriously, what are they—?"

"Why the hell do you care?" The youngest Winchester hissed, eyes flashing with fury. Dean grimaced. Yeah, he got it. Sam was pissed at what the specter had said about him. It wasn't like Dean had been proud of those remarks himself.

"If you're sick, you're going to need to rest—"

"So, I'll be ready to go on the next hunt with you?" His little brother asked with a mirthless chuckle, thought sadness flickered in his gaze. "When you will understand that eventually I'm not going to go hunting with you anymore?" It was a whispered, pained question and one that he didn't want to answer. Hunting without Sam? It would be like Stanford all over again and pissed as he was for Sam abandoning him in Purgatory, he wasn't about to give him up without a fight.

But that was a matter for a different time. There were more important issues now.

"What do you need to take those medicines for?" Sam's face hardened and Dean resisted the urge to throttle his brother until some sense got knocked into that thick skull of his.

"Dean—" The pained expression covered his brother's face and sadness now ruled in his eyes. The eldest Winchester's heart dropped as dread filled him. He had seen that expression on Sam's face before and it only meant bad things.

"Sam, please."

Maybe it was own whispered plea that did or maybe it was sheer desperation that was written on his face. Either way, Sam sat wearily down on the bed and fished out the two bottles.

"After you vanished," He began slowly. "Things happened."

* * *

_"Mr. Winchester?" Sam nodded shakily before sitting down in front of Doctor Wellman's desk. He was a kindly, older doctor in his mid-50's and he had graciously agreed to see Sam at anytime after he and Dean had taken care of a ghost problem for him. That had been years ago and Sam had been worried the good doctor wouldn't remember him, but the grin lighting up on his face told a different story. "What seems to be the trouble?" There were no questions about where Dean was or what he had been up to recently and Sam was grateful. Honestly, life without Dean had passed by in a haze, until the problems had started. His chest had begun to ache and sometimes it felt like someone was trying to drive a spike through his heart. He described how he could no longer run without feeling like passing out and how even sitting, his heart was pounding. Dr. Wellman listened and nodded, occasionally making notes, before finally saying,_

_ "I'd like to run some tests." _

_ Sam just nodded._

* * *

_ "Mr. Winchester," Dr. Wellman frowned at him and Sam knew in that moment that he was screwed. Something was seriously wrong and God, he was going to die, wasn't he? He was going to die and never find Dean and never—_

_ "Yes?" He breathed out, forcing himself to focus on the here and now._

_ "I've gotten the results of the test and I'm confident that you have atrial fibrillation." Sam just tilted his head to the side, confused. "It's quite common actually. You see, in a nutshell, your heart beats irregularly. In your case specifically, your heart beats too fast and this is what is causing your pain." Dr. Wellman paused, checking Sam's shell-shocked reaction. "Now, this condition is quite manageable and we're lucky we caught it when we did." _

_ "How'd I get it?" Sam murmured, still in shock. _

_ "The only thing I can tell from your tests is that your high blood pressure may have something to do with it. Without family medical records, it's hard to tell though." He shrugged apologetically. "Sometimes, it simply runs in the family." _

_ Family. _

_ He'd lost all his family. Never to this though, but hey, maybe the universe was trying to surprise him. You don't get to be killed hunting! You get to be taken out by your own heart! _

_ Great. Just great._

_ "And is it . . . ?" His voice trailed off, unable to finish his thought._

_ "It is quite treatable," Dr. Wellman said with a grin. "In fact, putting you on some aspirin along with some medicine to curb your high blood pressure should help you within the next few days. I'm also going to prescribe you some medicines that should help bring your heart rate down and back into a suitable range." _

_ Sam relaxed slightly as Dr. Wellman scribbled on the prescription pad._

_ "But, Mr. Winchester?" _

_ Sam met his gaze._

_ "Yes?" _

_ "I'd advise against hunting. If your heart rate were to spike again, it could lead to a stroke or even congestive heart failure should you ignore treating it." _

_ Sam just nodded mutely._

_ Every fiber in his being was screaming to go find Dean, but his heart . . . what good would he be to Dean like this? He had no leads and no idea where to start and now with his heart messed up, he had no choice but to hold off the search. _

_ Just until he got things under control._

_ Just until then._

* * *

Dean's first instinct was to storm outside the motel room and scream up at the sky. He wanted to curse someone out for putting his brother through so much. All Sam had ever wanted was to be normal and what had he gotten in life? Nothing but hardship and pain.

And Dean . . . hell, he had added to it.

"Dean?" Sam stared up at him with those puppy dog eyes and Dean swore for a second he saw baby Sammy asking him to read a bedtime story to him again. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah." His voice was clipped and Sam winced back from the hidden fury in it. Dean grimaced though at his little brother's reaction. He wasn't angry with Sam—he could never be angry with Sam for this—but he wouldn't be able to deny that his way of dealing with worry is to get angry and beat something up. "Were you going to tell me?" That's what really pisses him off though—that Sam didn't even feel comfortable enough to come out and explain what had happened to him. Dean had been blaming him for not looking for him when in reality Sam couldn't physically do so. God, what kind of brother did that make him!

"I wasn't sure." Dean nodded thoughtfully. Fair enough. It wasn't like he was being exactly straightforward about what had happened in Purgatory. He had secrets of his own still.

"Alright," He mumbled, pushing down the anger and worry and fear. "What do we need to do?"

Sam just gaped at him.

"We?" He echoed, unsure if he had heard his older brother right.

"Yeah," He replied. "Do we need to go see a doctor here or something? Do we need to go get some tests done?" Sam still seemed too shell-shocked to reply, but finally snapped out of it.

"Uh, no, not yet," Sam mumbled. "As long as I take my medicine and try not to put too much strain on my heart, I'm usually okay."

"Usually?" Dean repeated, eyes narrowing in suspicion that Sam was holding something back from him.

"Some days are worse than others." Sam made it clear that Dean wasn't getting any more explanation besides that and the eldest Winchester let it drop.

"Okay, no more hunting then—"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, still confused and in shock.

"Not up for discussion, Sam." Dean growled. "I'm not risking you."

That shut Sam up quickly.

* * *

It was almost surreal.

Dean was acting like old self again—like Purgatory had never happened. He was researching Sam's condition while simultaneously having his little brother to bring him up to speed on whatever had occurred while he had been gone. He was checking out local doctors and debating whether they should head to a specialist to see about getting a second opinion—not that they didn't trust Dr. Wellman, but there might be other options out there. Sam just sat there and reveled in it all. All he had wanted since the moment he had found out about his condition was his older brother to make everything okay. Amelia had tried and she had eased some of his fears, but she had never truly known him—not like Dean did.

And seeing his brother taking notes off whatever website he found stirred something up in Sam, something had buried since the moment he had found out. He felt like it was okay to come undone. He had been strong ever since he had found out about the danger of what his problem could do and he hadn't let himself give in to his fears and purge them from his system. No, he had done what Dean would've done and buried them down so deep that they had been left to fester inside him.

But, Dean was back now. Dean would help make things right.

Without even noticing until liquid fell onto his hand, Sam suddenly placed his hand to his cheek. Quickly, he wiped away the silent tears only for more to fill their place. Dean was still too invested into his work to notice, but eventually, he looked up and saw the state his little brother was in.

And then, like he had done so many years ago, he simply walked over to Sam, wrapped his arms around him and let his brother cry, knowing that he was there for Sam.

It was the best Christmas present that Sam had ever received.

* * *

"You've taken your medicine?" Dean asked as he packed the rest of the stuff into his duffel while Sam sat on the bed by the door, eager to get out this room. After Sam's revelation, Dean had placed them both on lockdown until he had mastered everything he had needed to know about Sam's condition. He was now well versed in both hypertension and atrial fibrillation and while he would still grill Sam's next doctor, he felt confident enough to put this city in their rear view mirror.

"Yes, Dean."

"You check your blood pressure?" His little brother gave him a classic bitch-face and Dean suppressed a chuckle.

"Yes, Dean."

"What about—?"

"I've done everything, Dean." A pause as Dean registered his little brother's exasperated tone. Then, with a smirk, he asked,

"Dude, who taught you to be such a smart-ass?" With a fondness that he had thought he'd forgotten to know how to muster, Sam replied with a grin,

"My brother."

And for the first time since this whole ordeal began, Sam believed that they would make it. After all, he wasn't alone in this fight any longer.

His big brother was back.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Definitely one of my favorite chapters and I hope this gives everyone a little bit of hope while watching season 8. Hang in there everyone! The boys will have to stop fighting eventually! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and request—just as long as it's not Christmas requests, that is. Thanks! _


	21. Chapter 21: Losing it All

_**Author's Note: **__Hi there! I'm alive! Sorry for the abrupt two days without posting, but real life got insane and by the time I had time to write, I was exhausted. So, I'm back now and you all can enjoy three prompts for today! Please look forward to it. Okay, so the first prompt for today comes from __**3DBABE1999**__, who asked for a season 8 story with Sam dealing with suicidal thoughts and PTSD and featuring Garth. Thank you for this prompt! I've actually wanted to write something along these lines for a while, but you finally gave me the opportunity to do so! Thanks! __**Warning: this story does deal heavily with suicide**__. If this bothers you in anyway, please just skip this chapter! Thank you! This is set after "Southern Comfort". Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I made it through the year and I did not even collapse _

_Gotta say, "Thank God, for that" _

_I'm torn between what keeps me whole and what tears me in half _

_I'll fall apart or stay intact." _

—_Reliant K, "Merry Christmas, Here's to Many More_

* * *

It's not exactly how he pictured spending Christmas Eve.

The motel room is silent save the whir of the old heater. The old black and white TV plays some old Christmas movie that everyone's seen, but no one can ever remember. The twinkle of Christmas lights pours in through the empty window, illuminating an otherwise dark room. He's alone, sitting on the bed. Dean's out doing God knows what. He's been avoiding spending time with Sam ever since the spectre possessed him, not like Sam can blame him. Having your older brother point a gun at you, call you a failure as a brother and then try to kill you kind of does a number on your psyche.

_The feel of pain as his fist connects with Sam's face. The sheer fury radiating from his brother's frame. The harsh words spilling out from his mouth. Garth trying in vain to knock some sense into Dean only for his older brother to remain undeterred._

_ "Goodbye Sam." _

_ Waiting for the gun to go off, for the pain to hit, for him to die—_

Sam snaps out of the flashback and tries to control his rapid breathing. It's over, he reminds himself, and Garth stopped Dean from killing him. Still, the pain from the flashback refuses to recede. If Garth hadn't had been there, Dean would've killed him. Dean hated him that much. How much of his older brother's actions had been the work of the spectre?

The gun is heavy in his hands and as if noticing it for the first time, Sam runs his hand over the top of it. The cold metal is smooth under his skin and he wonders if maybe this is the best way. Ending it all . . . it's a selfish way out, he knows that. It would be better go down in a hunt. At least Dean could've been proud of him that way, could have a story to tell other hunters.

But . . . the hatred in Dean's eyes, the clear feeling of betrayal—Sam can't wait for a hunt to go wrong. He has to end this here and now, on his own terms. It's the least that the universe owes him. He's never had a choice when it came to his own destiny; he's never been able to make his own decisions! If only he had died back in Cold Oak all those years ago, none of this would've happened. Dean could've been happy. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—everyone who had ever died for them could've lived.

He's tired of letting some unknown force call the shots. For once, he's going to make his own choice. And doing this . . . it's what he wants to do. It's not like Dean would care anyway. He clearly made his feelings known when he had called Benny a better brother than Sam had ever been. Sam rises from the bed and places the gun down before heading to his duffel. Digging through the folded stacks of shirts and pants, his fingers brush the cold, metallic object he had been seeking.

Had it really been so many years ago that he had given Dean the amulet? The amulet that his brother had never stopped wearing until he had thrown it out and in a sense, thrown Sam out. The youngest Winchester had kept it, of course, and had held onto it, hoping there would come a day when Dean would want it back.

Because watching Dean throw out the only physical object of their bond had been devastating.

Still, Sam had understood why his older brother had done it even if it had broken his heart. Heaven had played them, of course. They had wanted to manipulate the two brothers until they would feel so isolated and trapped that their only way to escape was to say yes to Michael and Lucifer. In some way, Sam felt like he deserved the pain of seeing the amulet tossed aside. He had started the apocalypse, after all. He had deserved the pain and the suffering. Yet, they had overcome the end of the world. They had survived the Cage and Dick Roman together. The two of them had come so far from that horrible moment when Dean had tossed out the amulet and Sam had dared to hope that they might finally be able to be as they once were.

How foolish of him. His hopes got dashed every time.

He thinks about leaving a note, but realizes that nothing he can say will change or fix anything. So, he simply places the amulet on the table and heads back to the bed. Picking up the gun once more, he can't help but feel relieved. At last, he can make his own choice. At last, he can free Dean from his burden of being forced to be with Sam. Now, he can go hunt with Benny without feeling obligated to stay for anyone. Sam wishes it didn't have to end like this, but he can't stand to see the hatred in his brother's eyes any longer.

He places the gun to his temple and shuts his eyes.

* * *

Dean isn't sure where he's going.

He's been walking ever since he dropped Sam at the motel room and that was over a half an hour ago. Yet, the eldest Winchester can't turn back. He had said some horrible things to his little brother and he had been ready to kill him. If not for Garth, Dean would've pulled the trigger. The part that truly bothered him; however, was that deep down, he meant most of what he said. He was bitter over how Sam abandoned him to be with Amelia. Even when Dean had been with Lisa—per Sam's wishes—he had never, not even for a moment, stopped thinking of his little brother burning in Hell. How could Sam have been so content to live an apple pie life? Why hadn't he looked for Dean? It just didn't make any sense to Dean. You didn't go through all the crap that they had been through and then just give up on each other. It didn't work that way.

His cellphone rings. He ignores it and keeps walking. It's probably Sam, wondering where he was. Well, good. Let him worry for a change!

It rings again. Dean picks up his pace.

Three times and finally, Dean stops and answers.

"What?" He growls.

"_Dean?" _The eldest Winchester freezes in his tracks.

"Garth?" He mutters, wondering why the hell he was calling just days after their last hunt. "What are you—?"

"_It's Sam." _Garth answers shakily, sounding anything but the usually relaxed, come-what-may hunter he was. _"Dean, I think something awful has happened to Sam." _

"What do you mean?" Dean questions, spinning around back in the direction that the motel room was, fear filling him with adrenaline. "Did you talk to him—?"

"_No, no," _The relaxed hunter replies quickly. _"I'm with a psychic, working on another hunt, you know? And she just froze up and started telling me that she saw Sam with a gun pointed at him in a motel room." _Dean's walk turns into a sprint. _"Dean . . ."_

_Please don't say it_, Dean pleads.

"_She says Sam will die tonight."_

Before he can even acknowledge what Garth has told him, Dean hangs up and quickly steals a motorcycle from the parking lot of a bar that he passed. He knows that this probably knowing—the psychic could be crazy or repeating a vision that might've happened in the past—but that doesn't stop the worry from shifting into overdrive.

Yes, he and Sam have had a lot of problems recently.

Yes, he's still pissed at Sam for leaving him in Purgatory.

But, that doesn't mean he'll ever be okay with his brother dying and leaving him alone. And crazy psychic or not, he's not going to risk his brother's life. Maybe he's forgotten how to be a good big brother recently, but he damn well knows that if Sam's in trouble or hurt, then it's his job to make it better.

_Hang in there, Sam._

* * *

He's about the pull the trigger when Dean storms into the room, out of breath and disheveled. Sam's eyes meet his brother's clearly frightened gaze and the youngest Winchester grimaces.

"Sam—" Dean begins, but Sam tightens his grip on the gun.

"Don't." He pleads. He can't bear to hear anymore about how he screwed everything up, how he left Dean to rot even though he was sure that Dean had died and left him all alone. He can't deal with one more disapproving glance from his older brother.

He can't do it.

"So, what?" Dean questions, closing the door slowly behind him. "I'd come back and find you dead? That was the plan?" There's anger in his older brother's tone and Sam understands why. It takes a real idiot to screw this up too.

"You weren't supposed to come back—" He mumbles.

"Until you were already dead?" He flinches at just how sharp his brother's tone is. Then, suddenly Dean's hardened expression softens and his green eyes seem to mist over with grief. "Sam, don't do this."

"Why not?" He challenges, tears stinging his eyes. He won't cry though, not in front of Dean. "It's not like you care!" Dean flinches back in surprise.

"What do you—?"

"Don't!" Sam snaps, the gun still wrapped tightly in his hand. Then softly, "Don't play dumb Dean. I know you meant what you said."

"That's what this is about?" Dean questions carefully, stepping in closer to Sam, but not too close. He doesn't want Sam to feel pressured and pull the trigger. "What I said?"

"You think I let you rot while I was with Amelia?" Sam challenges, biting back sobs as the sheer grief overwhelms him. Dammit, he's stronger than this. Suspiciously though, Dean seems to be near tears as well. "I thought you were dead! I searched for you but there were no leads and dammit, Dean if I had known, I would've done anything to have gotten you out!"

And in that moment, Dean knows it's true.

God, how could he have believed that Sam had just given up on him? Had Purgatory changed him that much that he no longer believed his little brother—his little brother, who was now ready to remove himself from Dean's life permanently and that was just unacceptable.

"Sam, put the gun down." The famous Dean Winchester is begging now, something he would never do for anyone other than Sam.

"No." Sam grits out.

"Please, man," Dean continues to plead, a lone tear snaking down his cheek. He's lost Sam once before—he won't do it again. "Don't do this."

"Dean—" The finger on the trigger trembles and the eldest Winchester knows he needs to get the gun away from his brother now.

"Sam, I need you, okay?" He admits finally. "Please, Sam. If you do this . . . hell, I'll just follow you." His youngest brother's eyes widen at that.

"No, Dean—"

"Put the gun down then, Sam." Dean orders, summoning of the authority that John Winchester used to use in his tone. "Please, Sammy. Don't do this." Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam lowers the gun down from his temple and puts it back on the bed. With a speed faster than he even knew he was capable of, Dean pulls his younger brother into his arms—much like had done when they were younger—holds him until he's sure that he's not going to vanish before his eyes.

If he had ignored that phone call—

He wasn't too late though.

Dean wasn't going to lose his brother again.

He holds onto him even together than before, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

The next morning, Sam wakes up to find Dean snoring next to him, the amulet once again around his neck. Sam grins and whispers,

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

* * *

_** Author's Note: **__I hope you all enjoyed! Two more chapters will be coming your way sometime later today. Please review! Please note that I will be closing requests on Christmas Eve so if you have a prompt, submit soon! Thanks! _


	22. Chapter 22: Deck the Halls

_**Author's Note: **__Hi again! Welcome to today's second chapter! The prompt for this is by __**LotRia**__ who asked for, "Sam decides to decorate their motel room on Christmas Eve while Dean is out and unknowingly picks up a box of cursed tree decorations. Beaten up by ornaments and hogtied by Christmas lights... so not how the night was supposed to go. Hurt/defenseless Sam and protective big brother Dean to the rescue." This prompt brought a huge smile to my face when I first read it. I hope you enjoy it! Set in season 1. Please enjoy!_

* * *

This was going to be perfect.

Checking the window once more to make sure his brother had indeed taken the Impala out to do a food run, Sam beamed. This was their first Christmas back together since the Christmas before he left for Stanford. At school, Sam had spent Christmas by himself. Jess had always invited him to come home with her, but Sam had never felt comfortable doing so. Jess' family was sure to be one of those families with the perfect Christmas tree with the perfect amount of lights on it and have the perfect Christmas dinner. He hadn't wanted to go because, honestly, he missed his own family and their crappy excuse of Christmas. He had missed getting a pathetic excuse for a tree and than frantically decorating with whatever stuff they had managed to get their hands on. He had missed the weird presents and the take-out they used to get for Christmas dinner.

Most of all, he had missed his brother.

He often wondered whether Dean had missed him as well during Christmas. Had he thought about calling Sam just like had thought about calling Dean? Had he wanted to be with Sam at all or had he felt betrayed with Sam's choice to go to school? The questions remained unanswered and weighed uncomfortably on Sam's mind.

Hence, this surprise.

It was Christmas Eve and Sam finally had the motel room to himself, which meant he could finally decorate, and surprise Dean. He had been lucky to come across a box of Christmas decorations at a garage sale a few states over. They had been incredibly cheap and the youngest Winchester had certainly gotten the bang for his buck. There were ornaments of all sizes, shapes and colors as well as multi-colored lights to go up on the tree Sam had managed to stash outside when Dean had been in the shower. Now, after finally bringing in the tree and placing it against the far right wall, Sam could decorate in peace.

"Okay, let's see." He stuck his hand into the box and dug out the strand of lights. Wrapping them around the tree, he plugged them in. They glowed brilliantly and Sam grinned like a kid. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed this. It had been four years since the last time he had decorated a tree. Practically giddy with joy—God, he was acting like such a little kid!—he pulled out some red, sparkly candy cane ornaments and placed them on the tree. Stepping back to check the tree, he decided that more lights were needed. He reached down into the box.

Only, the lights were gone.

"What?" Sam mumbled to himself, looking around. He didn't remember taking them out, but then again, he'd been pretty distracted by all the ornaments and it's possible that he could've overlooked them—

Faint beeps from the EMF meter break the silence in the room.

Sam freezes and glances at the table where Dean had tossed the meter earlier after they finished their first interview. Realization dawning in his eyes, Sam watches as the small arrow rises rapidly from the green to red. Before he has time to do anything, the strand of lights wraps itself around his arms binding him. Struggling, the youngest Winchester is pulled back by the invisible force operating the lights towards the tree. Ornaments jump off and shatter, their glass cutting Sam. He hissed in pain and using all his strength managed to get one hand free. Pushing himself towards his phone, he managed to hit speed dial one before the lights have him wrapped up once more.

_"You miss me already?" _His brother asked cockily.

"Dean! I need—" Sam called, but whoever is operating the lights clearly doesn't like this turn of events and soon the strand of lights around the tree uncoiled itself before wrapping around Sam's neck, pulling tight.

_"Sam?"_ His brother barked, concerned.

"D'n." His lungs were beginning to burn as his oxygen supply was violently cut off. Blood dripped off his hands and onto the carpet, but Sam doubted that blood loss would be a big concern if Dean didn't arrive soon. His body shifted, instinctively fighting for survival, but if anything, it seemed to make the lights tighten. He can't breathe and he can't escape.

He was going to die here.

Darkness clawed at his vision and before Sam can even attempt to explain to Dean what was occurring, he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Over the years, there have been a lot of crazy things that Dean has seen.

Storming into the motel room, guns blazing and seeing Sam lying on the floor with strands of Christmas lights tied around him? Yeah, that tops it all.

"Sam!" He exclaimed because dammit, Sam wasn't moving—he was pale and just lying there and God, was that blood? "Sammy!" Ornaments are hurled at him and Dean quickly dodges them. Glass shatters and the EMF wails. He fires some rounds of rock salt, dispelling whatever force has locked onto the decoration and chanting a basic banishment spell, he buys himself enough time to get to his brother. "Sam?"

No reaction, not even a faint stir.

Dean's heart plummets and panic claws at the edges of his sanity. He places two fingers on Sam's neck and waits.

There's no pulse. The panic goes in overdrive and dammit, the lights are starting to move again, but Sam's heart isn't beating and he's not breathing and how the hell is Dean supposed to deal with all of this?

"Stay away from him!" Dean roars, firing more salt rounds. The spirit gone once more, he turns his attention to his younger sibling. "Sammy, please." Tears are starting to sting behind his eyes, but who cares? Sam isn't breathing and Dean doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do now.

A voice sounding suspiciously like his missing father pierces through the fog of initial grief. Training instinctively takes over he begins to do compressions, willing Sam's heart to beat once more, willing him to breathe. One, two, three—

The EMF meter warns him that their friendly neighborhood spirit is back, but all of Dean's focus is on Sam. He can't stop now—

Then, right as the lights are about to dive at him, Sam gasps and as if the spirit is almost startled by this turn of events, the lights freeze, giving Dean the second he needs to fire another salt round. Checking Sam over quickly, he hauls his brother to his feet, determined to get him the hell out of this room and away from the stupid decorations.

"D'n?" Sam wheezes, voice sounding absolutely awful and Dean winces at it. "What—?"

"Not enough time," Dean snaps. "We've gotta get out of here. Hang on, okay?" Sam nods and dutifully tries to walk, but ends up swaying where he stands. Wrapping his arm around him, the older Winchester half drags Sam outside. Placing Sam safely in the Impala, he faces the room, holy water in one hand and a stronger banishing spell in the other.

"Dean," His younger brother's voice is stronger. "You can't go alone—"

"Just stay put." He orders.

"Dean—!" He shoots his sibling a confident smirk and then storms inside.

The spirit goes down almost quietly. All it takes is a splash of holy water over the decorations and then the spell and soon the room is spirit free.

"Son of a bitch," Dean murmurs, running a hand through his hair before surveying the damage—the bloody ornament pieces and the broken shards of glass littering the floor—before finally packing the rest of their stuff up. "Rot in hell, bitch." He curses as soon as everything is packed. Tossing their duffels into the trunk, he jogs to the passenger side of the car to check on his brother. Angry red lines from the cord are clearly visible on his neck and Dean knows it's going to be at least a week before the pain will go away and his voice will sound even remotely normal. The cuts, on the other hand, aren't that deep, but will need to be cleaned when they reach the next motel.

"Gone?" Sam asks him drowsily—his ordeal clearly having drained him.

"Yeah," Dean replies. "You okay?" Sam mumbles something that his older brother takes as a yes. Getting into the car, Dean then puts the motel in the rear mirror.

Good riddance.

"Supposed to be perfect," Sam whispers sleepily. "First Christmas back." Dean understands. He had been out trying to find out where he could get some good Christmas food for later that night, only for Sam to call him before he had a chance to grab anything.

Thank God Sam had managed to get to his cellphone.

"Dude, when has anything we've done been perfect?" Sam chuckles at that before he winces. "But Sammy?" One lazy eye meets his gaze. "I'm glad you're back."

The smile Sam gives him is reward enough for indulging in the chick-flick moment.

They drive, just content to be with each other.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__The third story for today will be up later tonight! Please review! Thanks! _


	23. Chapter 23: Same Old, Same Old

_**Author's Note: **__This was written last night but I didn't feel comfortable posting it until I had edited it hence why it's going up this morning, which means two chapters for today! Today's first prompt comes from __**Cdw43**__ who asked for, "I would like to see Dean dealing with a de-aged Sam (mentally, not physically) around Christmas time. (but please don't have 6'4" Sam sitting on Santa's lap!)" This is actually my first de-aged fic of any kind so thank you for that! So, I hope this is what you wanted. Please enjoy! We're going to set this in season 5. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I saw three ships come sailing in _

_On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; _

_I saw three ships come sailing in _

_On Christmas Day in the morning."_

—_Blackmore's Night, "I Saw Three Ships"_

* * *

"Please."

"No." He gripped the woman's porcelain skin tight enough to leave a bruise, but she didn't so much as flinch. Her expression was as cold as her ice-blue eyes and frankly, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to get through to her. What he would give to be able to kill her, but that wasn't in the cards.

Not with Sam's wellbeing on the line.

"Please! I'm begging you—!" It was a huge admission—he never discussed his feelings with anyone other than Sam and even in those cases, rarely. To tell this woman—this witch—how much he needed everything to be fixed was as low as he could go with a stranger.

"Oh, so the infamous hunter Dean Winchester is begging me to reverse the one wish that he asked me for?" Her pale pink lips tilted upwards in a smirk. She sat down on the motel room bed and her eyes travelled out the window where Sam was running around in the snow with Castiel.

"I didn't wish—!" He growled, tired of repeating himself to her but her eyebrows simply rose. Calmly—too eerily calm—she smoothed some of her hair back before meeting his gaze.

"You said, "Sam, I wish you would act like you used to do during Christmas!' did you not?" His face fell and she smiled triumphantly. "You should be happy. You got what you asked for."

"But I want Sam back!" Dean hissed and she sighed.

"That's the problem with humans," She started wearily, rising from the bed and heading to the door. "You're never content." Her hand touched the doorknob when Dean finally called out,

"Sam's defenseless like this. He could say yes to Lucifer without truly understanding what that would mean. Do you want to be responsible for that?" She hesitated and Dean continued. "Please. I need him back."

She froze, her expression softening at the sound of how truly distraught Dean was. With a little sigh, she let her hand fall from the doorknob, her mind made up. Spinning around, she faced him once more. He held his breath and waited.

"I need the rest of today to gather everything," She told him. "And once I've restored Sam, you never come back here again. You start thinking before you speak. Deal, Dean?"

"Deal." He breathed, never having been so relieved in his life.

"Very well. I will be back tonight."

With a nod, she waved her hand and was gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, beaming as he rushed over to his older brother. "Look, look, Cas and me made snowballs!" He held out his hand, clearly proud of his misshapen ball of snow. Castiel appeared more confused by his though.

"I don't understand," The angel of the Lord mumbled. "What is the purpose of this?" Sam chuckled and faced the angel.

"To do this!" He lobbed the snowball at Castiel who was too stunned to do anything but let it hit him. Snow scattered down his trench coat and the angel glanced at Dean, secretly asking for help.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean told his younger sibling. "That's enough for now. Why don't we go have some hot chocolate, okay?" His younger sibling's eyes widened and a smile lit up his face.

"Really, Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo." He couldn't help but chuckle as the memories of an eight-year-old Sam filled his mind once. He would be lying if he said it wasn't nice to see this side of Sam—the happy-go-lucky, guilt free, happy side that his brother kept locked away behind a wall of guilt and grief.

"Did you speak with her?" Castiel questioned gravely as Sam rushed into the motel room. Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Yeah."

"And?" The angel prodded.

"She'll be back tonight to reverse the spell."

"That is good news." Castiel breathed, clearly relieved.

And though Dean was glad he was going to be getting his brother back, he had to admit that he would miss this younger version of him.

* * *

They had been fighting when it had happened. Dean couldn't remember over what—the impending apocalypse caused so much stress that not a day would go by when they didn't bicker or something—but he was sure it had to do with Christmas. He had wanted to celebrate and Sam had, of course, wanted to research.

"Lighten up, Sammy!" Dean had chided. "It's Christmas! We'll go meet up with Bobby and Cas can—"

"Dean, if we can't stop this," Sam began with a weary sigh. "There won't be Christmas next year!" They had glared at each other before Dean had impulsively shouted, for the entire world to hear,

"Sam, I wish you would act like you used to do during Christmas!" Sam's mouth had opened to say something, but all that came out was a strangled cry of pain as he grabbed his head and collapsed onto the ground.

It had scared the shit out of Dean. He had checked to make sure that his brother was still breathing before frantically summoning Castiel. After explaining what had occurred, the angel had placed a hand on Sam's forehead before jerking it back in surprise as Sam's eyes opened.

"Sammy, you with me?" Dean questioned quickly.

"Dean?" Sam's face was drawn in confusion and pain.

"You okay?" Sam nodded. "Good."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He was a bit distracted, flipping through the books they had spread out on the table, looking for whatever had just occurred to be explained in them.

"Where's Dad?"

He had almost fallen out of his chair in response.

Thus, it soon became clear—especially after Castiel looked over him—that Sam had regressed back to being an eight-year-old trapped in an older body. After some careful explaining—_Dad's out, Sammy, and um, he won't be back for awhile_—and hiding all the mirrors—the last thing they needed was Sam to start asking questions about why he looked different—Castiel had been left in charge of babysitting while Dean tracked down whomever was responsible for this mess.

And now, they just had to make it through the rest of the day.

* * *

"Cas, Cas!" Sam exclaimed, rushing to the angel's side, hot cocoa mug in hand.

"Careful, Sammy!" Dean chided, though Sam ignored him.

"Try some, try some!" He chirped, placing the mug on the table.

"That is for you, though." Castiel protested half-heartedly.

"But you never had any, right?" The angel nodded and Sam beamed. "Good, you can try it!" He waited with baited breath ad Castiel brought the mug to his lips and drank a sip. Tilting his head to the side in confusion, he licked his lips. "Well, do you like it?"

"Yes." He finally admitted, a small smile on his face.

"Good!" Sam beamed. "See, Dean? Told you!" Dean chuckled dryly and nodded his head.

"Yeah, Sammy, you were right."

"I'm always right!" Sam continued and Dean scoffed.

"No way," He told his little brother. "I'm always right." Sam giggled and nodded his head in agreement. Dean grinned, seeing at how happy his little brother was. Maybe this wish hadn't turned out so badly. Don't get him wrong, he needed his brother back to behaving his proper age, but seeing this version of Sam had certainly lifted some of the weight off his shoulders. It had been nice to just enjoy the day without worrying about the impending apocalypse. Sam was happy, Cas seemed to be enjoying himself and Dean? Well, he was just glad to have this moment.

He should've known that demons would screw it up.

He should've known better by now!

* * *

They had just gone outside to make a snowman.

Sam had been begging Dean to let him do so and for the past hour it had been a litany of "Please, Dean! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease—!"

So, he had given in.

After bundling Sam up—didn't need for him to get a cold on top of all this—the trio had headed outside. Dean had begun to form the base while Sam had attempted to help and Castiel stood a bit to the side, intrigued by this.

"Why waste the time?" Castiel inquired. "He will only melt."

"It's fun!" Sam shouted.

"Yeah, Cas, it's fun." Dean echoed.

"Yes, Castiel," A voice hissed and the hairs on Dean's neck stood up. "Do let them enjoy themselves." Demons surrounded them—at least 10 of them—and while he didn't know how the hell they had gotten into this mess, he did know they were after Sam. Gripping his brother's arm, he roughly pulled him behind Castiel. The angel nodded, bracing himself for attack. "Well, well, I must admit, this is a bit of a surprise. Making a snowman?"

"Back off." Dean growled, hand on his gun.

"Dean." Sam whined, tone full of worry and fear.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean soothed him. "Just stay right there."

"So, it is true!" The lead demon exclaimed. "Father's vessel has become weak. How perfect. Surely he won't put up a fight now—" He took a step towards Sam, only for Castiel's hand to shoot out and smite him. The other demons gasped, but appeared otherwise unfazed. Castiel panted, clearly having exerted himself and Dean cursed silently.

Damn Winchester luck.

"You will leave Sam Winchester alone." The angel hissed, clearly still protecting Sam.

"We can't do that." Another demon spoke. "He is meant to our new father. We will not let you stand in the way of it—" They charged at both Castiel and Dean. Dean shot off a few rounds but was unable to make some progress. Castiel had been pushed aside and Sam screamed in agony as a demon cut into his arm. Blood dripped onto the crystalline snow. All activity froze.

"Idiot, you hurt the vessel!" One person exclaimed and Dean used this distraction to his advantage as he rushed to Sam's side. Tears streamed down his brother's cheek and Dean grimaced. The cut was deep and if it weren't fixed soon, blood loss would be a problem. He glanced at Castiel who was on his feet, bruised and battered, but okay.

"Well," A cool voice muttered and all pairs of eyes were on the witch as she stepped onto the battlefield. "Who forgot to invite me to the party?" She smirked at Dean and for the first time, he found himself glad that he was on semi-civil terms with a witch.

"Stay out of this!" A demon growled and the witch rolled her eyes.

"Demons, honestly," She stated, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Now, if you excuse me, I have some business with them." A wave of her hand later and the demons were gone and the trio was back in the motel room.

"Thank you." Dean breathed, holding onto Sam as his little brother cried.

"It wasn't a problem," She knelt before Sam, eyes softening. "Sam? Hi, I'm Cecily."

"H-hi." He hiccupped as tears choked his voice.

"I'm sorry I did this to you," She said sincerely. "But I'll fix it now. Close your eyes." Sam glanced at Dean for permission, which he soon got. "This may hurt." She touched his forehead and her hand glowed a vibrant yellow. Sam whimpered in pain, but Dean simply held him tighter. After a few moments, Sam's head lolled onto Dean's shoulder.

"Is he—?" Castiel began.

"It's done." She confirmed, rising from the floor. Heading to the door, Dean called out,

"Cecily, thank you." It was odd to be thanking a witch that had gotten them into this mess to begin with, but Dean felt she deserved to be thanked. She had bailed them out with the demons and she had fixed Sam.

She smiled before fading away.

* * *

When Sam woke up a few hours later with a pounding headache and no memories of what had occurred, Dean just grinned.

"Why is my arm bandaged?" Sam questioned.

"Demons." Castiel replied simply.

"Demons? What do you—?"

"Hey, Sam?" Sam met his gaze. "It's good to have you back."

Sam grinned and Dean knew that deep down—behind that wall of self-loathing and guilt—that his happy-go-lucky brother was still there.

Dean was going to get him out again if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__That was fun! I really enjoyed it! And I hope you did too. The second prompt for today will be up tonight. Reminder that today is the last day to submit prompts! Please review! _


	24. Chapter 24: Into the Woods

_**Author's Note: **__Merry Christmas Eve! I hope you're doing well! Today, I'm going to (finally) get caught up on this story. So, two chapters today (maybe three if I feel up to it) and at least one tomorrow! Also, __**REQUESTS ARE CLOSED**__. Thank you to everyone who submitted! I really look forward to working with all your wonderful prompts! And to those of you who didn't submit but wanted to, I might do something like this again soon so keep your eyes peeled. Today's first prompt comes from __**spnesmivida**__, who asked for, "In an attempt to have a normal Christmas, Sam and Dean go searching for a real tree to cut down. Something happens, Sam can be hurt or sick, either way. Do whatever you want with it." Thank you so much for this! Set in season two. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"You're kidding."

"No, Sam, I'm serious." Dean told him, a comfortable smirk on his lips.

"Why can't we just—?"

"What?" His older brother interjected. "Get a crappy excuse of a tree again like we do all the time?" Sam rolled his eyes and lowered himself down to Bobby's kitchen table. It was almost Christmas and per Bobby's request, they had arrived to celebrate the holiday with pretty much the only family they had left. John had died two months ago and while the duo still felt his loss, the pain had died down. It was good they were at Bobby's though. They wouldn't have to face their first Christmas without their dad alone. "C'mon, Sammy, it'll be fun."

Sam just sighed.

* * *

Turns out, Dean had really thought this through.

The two boys drove for about a half hour until Dean finally pulled over by the beginning of a forest. Trees covered in snow greeted them and Sam couldn't believe that they were actually doing this. Never—not even at Stanford—had he had a "normal" tree. Their trees were usually more like the one on the Charlie Brown Christmas special and while Sam had never minded those trees, some part of him had still longed for that perfect Christmas he always saw on TV.

"Well?" Dean prodded, smiling at his little brother's happy expression.

"Let's go get a tree!" Sam told him excitedly as the two plunged deeper into the forest.

It took them all of 15 minutes before Sam finally stopped and pointed to a tree.

"That one?" Dean questioned, axe in hand.

"That one." Sam confirmed and his older brother nodded. It was a perfect tree in all aspects. It was tall, but not too tall and all the branches were sturdy enough to hold snow. It was impressive and secretly, Dean was thrilled to actually give Sam what he had wanted for so many years. John Winchester had never been into Christmas—it had always fallen to Dean to take care of the holiday. To the best of his ability, he had tried to make Christmas as magical as he could for Sam and he hoped he had succeeded. "Come on, Dean!"

Judging by his brother's impatient expression, he had done just that.

"Excuse me," The voice startled them and Dean lowered the axe to see a young woman standing before them. She was bundled in a white, puffy snow jacket with a pink scarf around her neck. Her designer jeans were tucked into snow boots. The golden ringlets of her hair cascaded down until they kissed her shoulders. Emerald eyes sparkling, her pink lips curled upward in a smile. "You weren't planning on cutting down one of my trees, were you?" Her expression was innocent, yet her tone was dripping with venom and Dean was startled for a few seconds. She didn't look like she could cause any damage, but it wouldn't have been the first time he would've fooled. Sam glanced warily at him before taking a step towards the woman.

"I'm sorry," He apologized, utilizing his puppy dog eyes. "We didn't know this forest belonged to anyone."

"Well, it does." She spat. "You humans, it's not enough that you've doomed this planet. Now you must come and take everything from us." She began to walk over to them and Dean dropped the axe, pulling out his gun while Sam did the same. The woman's eyes widened in shock before amusement filled them and she smirked.

"What are you?" Sam questioned.

"So, hunters," She murmured. "Why must you always venture into my forest? Was it not enough that you killed the rest of us?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean growled, not liking the way she was eyeing Sam as if he were an easy target.

"You know not what I am?" She waved her hand and a blinding light filled the forest, causing both boys to shield their eyes. When the light died down, the woman stood there once, yet she was garbed in a mossy green dress. Flowers adorned her hair and as she stepped onto the snow with her bare feet, grass sprung up from beneath her.

"Nymph." Sam murmured and the woman grinned.

"You are certainly smart, are you not?" She crossed the distance to Sam who stepped back and continued to point his gun at her. Her eyes filled with sadness and she grimaced. "What? You'll kill me too for simply protecting my woods?"

"If that's what we have to do." Sam replied evenly.

"You hunters are all the same," She spat bitterly. "Kill those who are different and never think about the consequences. That's why you killed the rest of my sisters!" The ground was trembling beneath them now and Dean shot Sam a wary look. They had to get her to calm down or get the hell out of here. "Fine! You want the tree? Take it!"

The last thing Dean remembered before he blacked out was Sam calling out his name.

* * *

When he came to, Dean's head was pounding. Groaning, he pushed himself off the snow bank and absently touched his forehead. There was a bloody gash from something hitting his head, but after a quick once over, Dean was relieved to find that was he was only slightly battered and not broken. Looking around, he was relieved to see that pissed of nymph was gone, leaving behind their perfect Christmas tree in her wave.

The perfect tree that Sam was now underneath.

"Sammy!" Forgetting his earlier pain, Dean rushed to his brother's side. The tree was lying directly on his chest and Dean prayed that he hadn't been out too long. "Sam? Hey, Sammy?" He placed two fingers on the pulse point and waited. "Thank God." It was faint, but it was still there. "Let me get you out of there, okay?" Sam made no sign that he heard his older brother, which unnerved Dean even more. Silent was always a bad thing. Being silent meant you were hurt or dead. Even when he slept, Sam was never silent.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He spun around and there the wood nymph was, an easy smile on her lips. "Wouldn't want anymore accidents, would you?"

"Let him go."

"No." She retorted. "I have watched for years as my sisters were slaughtered simply for protecting this forest. I will not let their deaths be in vain."

"So, you'll kill my brother? How is that fair?" She faltered a bit, but finally answered.

"You're hunters."

"So what?" Dean scoffed.

"You're responsible for killing them." She growled.

"Listen, I'm sorry that you lost all your sisters—"

"You're sorry?" She echoed, eyes rolling. "Please! We both know that you could not care less—!"

"But I'm not going to stand here and watch my brother die," Dean hissed, voice deadly. "So stand back and let me do this or I'll be the one to send you to your sisters."

"And if I kill you first?" It was a loaded question, but Dean didn't hesitate with his answer.

"Then, at least I tried to save him." He turned back towards the tree and grabbed from the top, trying to shift it. It barely budged. Sam was running out of time and what was he doing—

"Release him." A soft voice commanded and Dean watched with wide eyes as the tree floated upwards before landing on the other side of Sam. His eyes darted over to the nymph. "I have misjudged."

Then, she was gone.

"Sammy? Hey, Sam, you want to open those eyes for me?" Sam's eyes opened and lazily looked up at him. Dean beamed. "Hey there. How do you feel? Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, though he winced as he pulled in a breath. "What happened?"

"Angry nymph," Dean replied and then gently helped his brother sit up. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let's get the hell out of here."

Sam just nodded.

* * *

"What happened to the tree?" Bobby questioned when he returned later for dinner.

"It's a long a story." Sam replied, rubbing his chest as if he could still feel the tree on top of him.

"We, um, had a bit of a run in with a wood nymph." Dean explained sheepishly.

"A nymph?" Bobby echoed before sighing. "I can't leave you two idjits alone, can I?"

"Nope!" The two brothers said in unison.

Bobby just smirked.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Hope you enjoyed! Other chapter or chapters will be up later tonight! _


	25. Chapter 25: Perchance to Dream

_**Author's Note: **__Hope your day is going well! Here is today's second request from __**firecracker189**__ who requested, "Sam is plagued with nightmares about when they were younger, and Dean comforts him. Mucho brotherly fluff please? :) Also, Sam tears and possibly a little Dean tears at his brother's pain? Set on Christmas Eve when they're both feeling a little nostalgic as well." One pair of crying Winchesters and brotherly fluff coming up! Set early season 1. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_It's Christmas Eve, and snow is on the ground _

_Mistletoe and holly all around _

_Yes, all the world is happy, but since you went away _

_My Christmas will be just another lonely day _

_Yeah, another lonely day, yeah."_

—_Brenda Lee, "Christmas Will Be Just Another Lonely Day"_

* * *

_ "Sam." _

_ His older brother stood before him, bloody and bruised. _

_ "Dean!" He shouts because no, he remembers this, he knows what happens here and dammit, he can't deal with this—_

_ "S'okay, Sammy." His 16 year-old brother falls on bended knee, coughing up blood. Sam rushes to his side, trying to support him. "You're safe." _

_ "Hold on, Dean," He tells his brother, tears pricking at his eyes. "I'm going to get you help." _

_ His older brother listlessly falls to the side and Sam's heart skips a beat. _

_ No._

_ No, this can't be happening._

_ Suddenly, the two brothers are no longer 12 and 16, but their current ages and Dean is still bloody and his heart isn't beating and Sam is frozen because dammit, this shouldn't be happening! Sam tries to stop the blood, but it taunts him as it continues to flow like a river out of his brother. He's helpless to do anything but sit there and watch his brother bleed out. _

_ Dean dies in his arms._

* * *

Sam's having a nightmare again.

His face gives away all the signs—the pain lines, the way his eyebrows have pinched together and the slight whimpers that break Dean's heart. The older Winchester sighs wearily and glances at the clock 12:30. Sam managed to get only an hour of sleep, a record low. Usually, they were able to get away with four hours before a nightmare—five if they were lucky—but clearly Sam's mind had it out for him. Pushing himself out of bed, Dean ambles over to his brother's side and shakes him gently.

"Sammy?"

Sam whimpers grow louder, but he doesn't awake. Dean grips his arms tighter and shakes harder. Finally, Sam's hazel eyes open and meet Dean's. He instantly looks away, guilt flashing in his eyes. Dean opens his mouth to asks what occurred in tonight's latest nightmare though he's pretty sure he knows—Jessica burning seems to be recurring theme—when Sam mutters,

"Don't."

His little brother rises from the bed and heads to the bathroom, slamming the door and leaving a puzzled older brother behind.

* * *

It had happened years ago when Dad had been out with Bobby on a hunt. He had left a 16 year old Dean in charge of a slightly rebellious Sam. The youngest Winchester had snuck out that night to go see a movie, only for the group of friends he was with to drag him to the local, supposedly "haunted" woods.

That had been his mistake.

Turned out the woods had been haunted by a werewolf and Sam's quick thinking—and training—had allowed him to get the other kids to safety. The werewolf though wanted blood and Sam had been sure he was going to die in that forest. The werewolf had been closing in; fangs bared and ready to sink in when Dean showed up.

He never knew how Dean knew where he was and had never gotten the courage to ask, but his older brother had almost died for him that Christmas Eve. In the end, they had spent Christmas in the hospital and Dean hadn't been bitten, but it had scarred Sam. Even though Dean had never told their father—John had bought the story of a minor car accident—and had accepted Sam's apology, the youngest Winchester had carried the guilt around for years. It had dulled as the years passed by, but perhaps the guilt he felt over Jessica's death has revived it?

Splashing some cold water over his face, Sam sucks a shaky breath in, gaining control over his emotions. Calmly, he steps outside, gets back into his bed and prays for sleep to return.

* * *

_Blood. _

_ There's so much blood that Sam feels like he's drowning in it. He sobs as he rocks Dean's cold body back and forth. He begs for Dean's eyes to open, but they never do. They never will and it's his fault. He got his brother killed. How can he go on like this? What was he supposed to do now? Dean is—was—his whole world and now he's gone leaving behind a bloody corpse and a broken brother._

_ Sam almost wishes the werewolf were still alive so that it would take him as well. _

_ "You killed him." A voice echoes around him. "You let him die. You monster. You freak." The voice continues to berate him and Sam can't find any strength to protest. It's true. _

_ He should've died._

_ He should've protected his brother for once._

_ Dean's blood is on his hands and there's no way he'll ever be free of it. _

_ "Dean." He pulls his brother closer and sobs._

* * *

Sam's eyes fly open to reveal a very much alive brother before him. Sucking a shuddering breath in, he tries to get his emotions under control. Dean is alive. He's not bleeding out. It was just a nightmare, just a nightmare, it hadn't been real—

"Okay," Dean sits at the edge of his bed and folds his arms across his chest. "Tell me about your nightmare." Sam almost freezes in shock. The last time had had ever talked through a nightmare with his brother, he had been ten.

"Dean—" Sam begins to halfheartedly protest, but Dean simply holds a hand up for silence.

"No," He says authoritatively. "Sam, I can't just keep watching you suffer through these, man." It's a hidden admission of _I'm worried about you_ and it spurs Sam into action. After his nightmares, there's no way he'll deny his older brother anything. Still . . . "Sammy?" Dean's emerald eyes are focused on his as he sits waiting patiently.

"Remember that werewolf in Brighton?" His older brother's confused look gives him is answer. Coughing, Sam mumbles, "When I went to the movies—"

"And you almost became a chew toy." Dean completes, understanding dawning in his eyes. "What does that—?"

"I almost lost you that night," The youngest Winchester whispers, tears pricking at his vision as the image of Dean's broken form fills his mind. He shudders, but continues to speak, though his voice becomes clogged with emotion. "And it was my fault, Dean. I made a stupid mistake and it almost got you killed." A tear rolls down his cheek and he furiously wipes it away only for another to replace it quickly. He feels like such an idiot for crying, but can't stop. The words keep tumbling out of his mouth and the tears keep flowing. "And I keep seeing you dying, Dean! Dying because of me and it's my fault! It's my fault that you got hurt, it's my fault that Jessica died because of me—" A sob breaks his voice and before he knows what's going on, Dean has his arms wrapped around him. Secure, safe, strong—that's what Dean has always been for Sam. He's gotten Sam through every traumatic event in his life.

"Stop it," His brother orders gruffly. "Sam, you were just being a stupid kid, okay? It wasn't your fault—!" Sam roughly pushed him back.

"But it was!" He cries. "If I hadn't left, then you—"

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean tells him fiercely his own eyes sparkling with unshed tears though Sam had no idea why he would be crying. He hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't failed to protect his brother, not like Sam had. "What happened with that werewolf and what happened to Jessica, they weren't your fault. Shit happens okay and it happens to us all the time. It's just our damn Winchester luck, okay? The point is," He makes sure that Sam is meeting his gaze. "That we are both okay. You need to let this go because I can't keep watching you do this to yourself."

"Do what?" Sam questions, tears finally stopping.

"This!" Dean exclaims, gesturing to his little brother. "The not eating and the barely sleeping—it's going to kill you Sam and I won't—" He takes a shuddering breath in as a lone tear snaked its way down his cheek. "I can't deal with that. I won't lose you to this. Understood?" Sam nods and Dean releases a breath, hastily wiping his own tear away. "Good."

"Dean," His older brother turns around and waits expectantly. "Thank you."

Dean smirks.

"Go back to sleep, will you Samantha? After all, you want Santa to come, don't you?" Sam chuckles, feeling like a huge burdened has been lifted off his shoulders. It's like he can finally breathe for the first time since Jessica died.

"You're a jerk, Dean." Sam sighs as he shuts his eyes and lays his head on the pillow.

"Shut up, bitch." Dean retorts; Sam laughs.

And when Sam falls asleep, he doesn't dream of Dean dying nor Jessica burning up on the ceiling.

He dreams about he and his brother engaging in the snowball battle to end all snowball battles. He even almost wins.

Not that he'll let Dean know that.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I will finish up the Christmas prompts tomorrow. Have a very merry Christmas or if you do not celebrate that, happy holidays! Please review! _


	26. Chapter 26: Promises

_**Author's Note: **__Merry Christmas! I hope your day is going well. So, I believe this is the last Christmas prompt I have, but if for some reason I skipped you or somehow missed you, resubmit your prompt and I will get to it either today or tomorrow. This is only for people who have already submitted a prompt for Christmas and I am still **NOT ACCEPTING NEW PROMPTS**. Okay, so to end our final Christmas prompt, this is a request from __**KlutzyHanyou**__ who asked for, "I would love to see a story where Dean is trying to escape the Christmas music on the radio while Sam is asleep in the passenger seat and he comes across Asia's "Heat of the Moment". This would wake up Sam in a panic as it is the Tuesday following the Mystery Spot. Bonus points if Sam tells Dean about the extra 6 months where he was all alone." I do like bonus points. Enjoy!_

* * *

"_Heard this same song 20 times and it's only Halloween (Joy to the World)_

_It's not even cold outside (deck the halls with boughs of holly)."_

—_Straight No Chaser, "The Christmas Can Can"_

* * *

Despite the fact that Dean has a cassette player loaded with the best music known to man, he does like to use the radio occasionally, especially when Sam is asleep in the car. For some reason, the radio is soothing to Sam and it's less loud. The radio got them through the nightmares after Jessica and Dean hopes it will get them through whatever nightmares Sam's wacky brain is conjuring after his latest ordeal.

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas—"_

"No." Dean mumbles, quietly. Sam's been exhausted ever since they finished that Mystery Spot hunt one week ago. From what Dean had understood—which wasn't much admittedly since Sam had been reluctant to discuss any of the details that Dean hadn't already knew—the Trickster had forced his little brother into a time loop from Hell. He had been forced to watch his older brother die over and over again and wasn't that just great considering in a few months, Dean would be dying for real.

_"Angels we have heard on high—"_

"Damn," Dean curses, because were all the stations playing Christmas music? Yeah, it was Christmas, but there had to be something else on? Where were the classic rock stations? Where was his Metallica? Where was AC/DC? Seriously, what the—

"_Heat of the moment—"_

In the two seconds that Dean has the song on, Sam is suddenly up and flailing, lungs heaving and eyes wild with fear.

"No!" Sam exclaims, almost hyperventilating. Cursing, Dean turns off the radio and pulls the Impala off the road. Turning the engine off, Dean turns to his younger and clearly in distress sibling and grips his shoulders.

"Sam, hey, Sammy!" He shouts, willing the fear to go out of Sam's eyes. "It's okay, you're okay, and I'm alive." His words don't seem to be getting through though as Sam's lungs keep heaving in air that he doesn't seem to be getting. "Sam! Breathe, okay? Nice and slow. Breathe with me." He moves Sam's hand so that it is resting on Dean's chest. He wills his brother to feel his heart beating underneath it, to accept the fact that he is indeed alive. Watching realization and comprehension pierce through Sam's fearful eyes, Dean vows that if he ever comes across the Trickster again, he'll kill him.

"Dean?" Hazel eyes lock onto his and Dean smiles softly.

"Hey there," He greets. "It's okay."

"I thought it was—" Grief colors his tone and Dean quickly interjects,

"It's been a week, Sam."

"I know." His little brother mumbles, seemingly gaining control over his emotions. They sit there in silence for a bit and Dean wonders whether he should say anything else. But what could he say? Sorry that I kept dying on you? Sorry that I can't make you forget everything you had to see? He settles for,

"You want to talk about it?" His brother looks at him like he's grown another head and Dean defensively glances out the window. "If you want to." It's an open invitation—a rare moment to let the walls come down—and Sam sucks in a shuddering breath.

"Six months." He whispers. Dean's head darts around.

"What?"

"That last Tuesday," His little brother begins shakily. "You died and life went on."

"I was dead for six months?" The eldest Winchester echoes, anger for the Trickster shifting into sheer fury. Sam doesn't answer; simply stares at his hands instead. "Sam?" Dean prods.

"Yeah." God, Sam sounds broken. He sounds completely defeated and almost dead inside. It scares Dean. It reminds him of when Sam had been dead, when had been still and pale and bloody and God, Sammy, don't do this, not again—

"I'm here." Dean assures him, gripping his hand. "Hey, look at me." Sam does so, albeit reluctantly. "Sam, I'm here.

"Yeah," Sam whispers. "But you won't be." He chuckles dryly—half-sob, half-laugh—and then lies back down, head resting against the window. Dean turns back on the car and the radio comes back on. He flips it to a Christmas station—he won't dare take a risk that the dreaded song will come back on—and then he begins to drive.

If he could do it all again, if had another chance; Dean would've still made the choices that he did. Losing Sam? That was unacceptable. Losing Sam had meant losing his purpose in life, had meant losing all feeling in his heart, and had meant wondering how he could on in life without that geek brother of his to give meaning to it. That demon deal had been a miracle and he would have traded his soul over and over again if it meant keeping Sam alive.

But . . . knowing that Sam would be alone in a few months? That tore him up inside. Yeah, Sam was alive and yes, Dean could protect him now, but what about after that? Would his brother get himself killed because he had been destroyed by grief? A year from now, would Sam become just another hunting causality?

Dean's grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"No." He grinds out through clenched teeth. "Sam?" His brother tilts his head, eyes still colored with grief.

"What?"

"You live." Sam sits up now, fully perplexed.

"What are you—?"

"When I'm gone," That words hurts to say, but he does it and manages to push it out of his mouth. "Promise me you'll stay alive." Sam opens his mouth, a protest on his lips.

"Dean—"

"Promise me!" He bellows, because he can see Sam's bloody and broken form now and he won't allow it to happen, he won't allow Sam to die. Never!

"I promise." He says it shakily, but Dean accepts it.

"Good."

A pause with the soft strains of a choir singing "Jingle Bells" fills the car.

"You want me to pinky promise too?" For a second, Dean is taken aback, but it's his brother's first attempt at levity in a week and the eldest Winchester will take it.

"Shut up, Samantha." He retorts.

They drive, destination unknown, just content with each other.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned out to be incredibly angsty, but oh well! And I feel like I skipped someone's Christmas prompt . . . If I did, let me know! Or if not, then this concludes the Christmas section of this story. From now until New Years, I'll be finishing the rest of the prompts. Merry Christmas! Please review! _


	27. Chapter 27: Revelation

_**Author's Note: **__Hi there! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas or if you didn't celebrate that, then I hope you had a wonderful holiday. So, this story is coming to an end. I'm finishing up all the non-holiday related prompts and my goal is to be done by New Year's, but I'm not sure if that will happen. Anyways, thank you all for sticking around! _

_ So, today's prompt was something that I really struggled with. It's from __**putmoneyinthypurse**__ who asked for, "While the boys are still teens, John hauls off when Dean's out of the house and disciplines Sam physically. I'm not talking a simple punch – I'm dreaming of a prolonged punishment with a belt or other implement that leaves Sam literally unable to stand. Bonus points till the end of time if: the punishment is for Sam's endangering Dean on a hunt, and Sam and Dean have a little spat, culminating in Dean storming out, after which John comes in and proceeds to punish Sam, and Sam submits because he feels he does deserve punishment for almost letting Dean get hurt. When Dean returns, he's appalled, horrified – what he does to John is up to you – and THEN, I'm kind of dreaming of some shameless schmoop where Sam believes he's got his just desserts and Dean, in between tending his wounds and being a Mom, makes him understand just how far off the mark he is." So, this prompt—for me anyways—borders on M. I have decided to do it, but I won't be going into detail with John's attack on Sam simply because it's not something I'm comfortable writing. That being said, __**THIS CHAPTER DEALS HEAVILY WITH THE ABUSE OF A CHILD**__. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don't read this chapter. You have been warned. Anyways, Sam here is 14 and Dean is 19. Thanks for the prompt! Please enjoy!_

* * *

Don't get Dean wrong, he loves his little brother—there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for that kid—but sometimes, Sam gets on his nerves. It's normal—they are brothers after all. Sometimes though, he wants nothing more than to get his little brother stop bitching about whatever hunt they're on and just be quiet. He gets it though; he understands that hunting isn't Sam's favorite thing; however, it's a necessary evil. It's what they were trained to do and until they get the demon that killed their mother, it's all they are going to do.

The sooner Sam knows that the better.

And yeah, so what if he left the room to clear his head? It wasn't like he was running away from a fight. Rather, he didn't want to hurl out angry words that couldn't be taken back. That was a pastime reserved for Sam and their father. Though, if Dean thought about it, the two of them hadn't been going at each other for quite awhile ever since that hunt back in Phoenix . . .

He shakes his head, getting rid of the bad memories of a hunt that had gone so completely wrong that it had almost cost him his life. No, there was no point on dwelling onto why Sam and John weren't fighting. It was a blessing in disguise—it was a good thing.

_I want to be normal Dean!_

Dean releases a sigh, letting some of the anger and tension out with him. His fights with Sam usually started over something small—laundry, cleaning the guns, etc.—only to snowball into something big that always circled back to how Sam hated hunting. Sam wanted to like everyone else—go to college, get a degree, marry a girl, have kids and basically live the American dream—and yes, Dean understood why he wanted that, but Sam had to understand that hunting was his life. He couldn't get out of it. It was in his blood.

"Okay," Dean whispers, head clear and temper in check. "Time to go." In his mad dash away from the motel, Dean had managed to get into town and it will take him a good 20 minutes to get back to his baby brother, which is good. It might give Sam some time to clear his head. "Let's go."

* * *

When Dean steps into the motel room, he does a double take. His eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open from shock at the sight that greets him. His mind can't process this and so Dean stands in the doorway and stares.

He stares at his father who has pushed Sam against the wall. He stares at Sam who is bleeding from his lip and has the beginnings of a black eye as well as a sluggish cut above his eyebrow. He stares at his father who is holding Sam clearly against his will and sees the matching blood on his fist—Sam's blood.

"D'n." Sam wheezes.

And then all hell breaks loose.

With a feral growl, Dean flings himself at his father who, too stunned to do anything else, drops Sam. Sam whimpers and with a strength Dean didn't know he had, he's dragging John away and pushing him to the other side of the room. Firmly planted in front of Sam now—defending his little brother—the older Winchester raises his fists and it collides with his father's face. John stumbles back, anger flashing in his eyes, but he makes no move towards Sam, perhaps sensing that would be a fatal mistake.

"Stay the fuck away from him!" Dean hisses, prepared to beat his father to a pulp if it means protecting Sam.

"Dean, you don't understand—" John's tone is calm and his hands are up in some sort of placating way.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" He shoots a glance to his baby brother, who has curled into the fetal position and is wincing from all the pain. It ramps Dean's anger up even more.

No one attacked Sam and got away with it.

No one.

"He has to learn, Dean," John says with a sigh, like he's explaining things to a toddler. "If he won't listen to reason, then you have to use force."

"Force?" Dean echoes, completely taken aback. "You think beating up Sam was going to teach him a lesson? That's what this is about—?"

"It did teach him a lesson," John replies exasperatedly. "Sam's been doing better on hunts. He's been more obedient." It's sickening to hear his father—the one person he looked up to—to speak this way.

"Christo."

No reaction; Dean's heart sinks a little further.

"Son—" Before he even realizes it, Dean's grabbed his father by the collar of his jacket and has slammed him up against the wall.

"Don't you dare call me that again," He growls, voice dripping with venom and murderous intent. "Get out of here." He lets go of John, who appears to be completely confused.

"Dean—"

"Get out!" He hisses, eyes flashing with fury. "And if you come anyway near Sam again, I will kill you."

And he knows in that minute that the threat is true. He would kill to protect Sam, no matter what the threat is. If that meant taking out his father, well then, so be it. John looks like he's about to speak, but he simply grabs his duffel and heads out. The truck rumbles outside and Dean waits until he can no longer hear it before he turns to his broken brother crumpled on the floor. "Sammy?"

"Dean." He whimpers, before his face contorts with pain and tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

"S'okay, Sam," Dean soothes as his brother wraps his arms around him. "I've got you."

And while he holds his crying brother, Dean tries to figure out what the hell they are supposed to do now.

* * *

"Pastor Jim?" He's whispering because Sam just cried himself to sleep and yeah, Dean is going to have to wake him back up to look at those wounds, but for the moment—for this one-second—Sam deserves some peace. Besides, Dean still has no clue what he should do. Their dad had always been the one to call the shots and Dean had been happy to go along with that.

But John had hurt Sam.

They were on their own now.

"_Dean?" _The worried friend on the other end of the line tells him otherwise and he's grateful that they still have people that they can trust. _"Are you hurt? Is Sam okay?" _

And despite how strong he was trying to be in front of Sam, his façade crumbles, because none of this is okay. Sam is hurt because of their dad and Dean, for the first time, doesn't know what to do now. Tears prick at his eyes and he can hear his voice breaking as he replies,

"We need your help," He sucks a breath in. "Dad hurt Sam."

"_What? Was he—?" _

"No," Dean hisses, broken by this fact. "He just hurt Sam. We need help."

"_Bobby's closer by you," _Jim informs him calmly, though Dean knows he can sense how fragile Dean is right now. _"I'll have him get to you within a half an hour. I can be there in two." _A pause as Dean digests the info. _"And Dean?" _

"Yeah?"

"_It's going to be okay, son." _

Dean just chuckles bitterly before hanging up the phone.

* * *

He forces himself to pull his act together before he wakes Sam. Murky hazel eyes—tinged with fear, Dean notes sadly—stare up at him. Dean plasters a sugary smile on his face, hoping Sam won't see past his crumbling façade.

"C'mon, Sammy," He coaxes. "Let me take a look at you." Sam sits up, wincing and Dean helps him into the bathroom. Under the dim light, he gently assesses his little brother's condition.

"Dean—"

"Pastor Jim and Bobby are on their way," He wrings out a washcloth and then gently dabs at the cut above Sam's eyebrow. His little brother hisses in pain and Dean frowns, but keeps going. "We're going to figure this out together, Sam."

Silence reigns as Dean gets the cuts cleaned and then places a small piece of gauze above the eyebrow. The black eye is already getting darker and the fury that Dean had fought to keep under check flares up once more. His hands ghost over Sam, checking for any other injuries and stop when Sam whimpers. Lifting up Sam's shirt, Dean feels like all the air has been sucked out the room. He pales and shakes his head, once again unable to process what he's seeing.

"Dean, I—" Sam looks away guiltily.

"How long?" Dean whispers, just starting at the assortment of bruises that covers Sam's chest. Some are older and some are just beginning to take shape—all make Dean sick to his stomach. There's the clear impression of a belt having hit Sam's skin and it makes Dean sick.

"Ever since that hunt in Phoenix."

"A month." Dean blanches, as the room spins around him. A month Sam has been being beaten up with their father and Dean didn't know, hell Dean wasn't even here to stop it.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam explains, placing a hand on his brother's arm and squeezing it gently. "Dean, it was mine—"

"Sam, don't—" Because he doesn't think he can handle anymore. He's about to break as it is.

"Listen," Sam urges and Dean doesn't have the heart to ignore him. "You got hurt in Phoenix because I didn't have your back—"

"Is that what Dad told you?" Dean hisses. "Sam, I got hurt because I wasn't paying attention to where the Wendigo had gone—"

"Because you were busy looking after me." Sam completes guiltily. "You got hurt and Dad thought that I needed to learn a lesson." Tears fill up those hazel eyes that could make Dean do anything.

"Sam, you don't—" But he can't finish his sentence because he's crying now too. This is so screwed up. Their dad had hurt Sam—not a demon or a spirit, but their living and breathing father. And why? Because he felt like Sam hadn't been watching Dean's back? That hadn't been farther from the truth!

"I deserved it, Dean." Sam cries. "Cause I got you hurt." He sobbing now and Dean is furiously trying to wipe his own tears away, but they just keep coming. So, he does the only thing he can think to do, he pulls Sam towards him and holds onto him. This is how they speak—they have never needed words to make things right.

That doesn't mean Dean won't speak them though.

It just means that for now, holding his little brother is the best thing for him.

* * *

Round two of dealing with Sam's wounds is still as painful as it was the first time for Dean, but he has his emotions in check. After checking to make sure that all of Sam's ribs are intact—thank God for that—he applies ice in small amounts to try and help reduce the swelling in some of them. Sam winces at the cold, but other than that, says nothing.

"You didn't deserve this," Dean tells him calmly. "You didn't cause me to get hurt on that hunt and you sure as hell didn't need to be taught a lesson."

"Dean—" He holds up a hand, asking for silence, which Sam thankfully grants.

"Listen to me," He makes sure Sam's eyes are locked onto his. "You can stop blaming yourself, okay? None of this was your fault. And you sure as hell didn't deserve a beating." Sam nods, but doesn't seem convinced. "I mean it, Sammy. Whatever Dad did to you, it was wrong. Whatever he told you wasn't true. No one deserves to be treated like this ever."

"But Dean—"

"I'm not finished," He says with a small smirk, his first attempt at levity. "Sam, you're my geek brother. I wouldn't trade you for anyone else, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He grins, feeling some of the earlier despair leave him. "You and me, we're gonna get through this."

"Us against the world?" Sam questions, eyes full of worry.

"Us against the world." Dean confirms.

Sam smiles—Dean feels like it might be the best thing he's ever seen in his life.

"What are we going to do now?" It's a good question and one that Dean has been pondering for quite awhile. "Are we going to go back to—?"

"No." Dean answers quickly. He and Sam will never be going back to John—at least not anytime in the remote future. The trust has been broken between them and Dean can't foresee it ever being rebuilt. "It'll be okay."

"I know." Sam whispers.

"Good."

Silence. Dean continues to tend all the injuries. It makes him sick inside, but it needs to be done. Besides, Sam's safe now. He'll be okay.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't trade you either."

"Course not, Sammy," Dean retorts. "Who else would teach you how to pick up chicks?" He holds his breath and waits while the comment registers in his little brother's mind.

Then, Sam laughs and Dean doesn't know why, but he laughs too.

Their life has become incredibly screwed up, but as long as they've got each other, Dean knows they can handle it.

With Sam by his side, Dean can take on whatever the world wants to throw at them.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There you go! I actually loved how this chapter came out even though I had to alter the prompt a little bit for me to feel comfortable doing it. Still, I hope you all enjoyed! Please review! _


	28. Chapter 28: Grief

_**Author's Note: **__Wow! Thank you all for the nice responses to last chapter! I really appreciated all those kind words and to those of you who asked if I would go on and tell the story with more detail (like what happened when Bobby and Pastor Jim got there) I'll think about it. I honestly have so many other stories to attend to right now, but I won't outright rule it out. We'll see what happens, okay?_

_ And onto today's prompt from __**Faye**__ who asked for, "following on from season 2 ep 1 where Sam is still injured from the crash but hiding it from Dean who is too wrapped up in himself to notice until it is too late and Sam collapses/gets hurt etc." I've covered this a bit in some of my other stories, but it's always something that I'm glad to revisit. I've always felt that Sam got kind of tossed to the side when it came to his own injuries from this episode. I mean, yes, the point was to show Dean dealing with his own guilt and the secret that he had been keeping, but I kind of always wanted something more, you know? Anyways, I'm rambling. Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_'Cause nothing's going right_

_And everything's a mess_

_And no one likes to be alone."_

—_Avril Lavigne, "I'm With You"_

* * *

Grief affects people in different ways.

Nowhere was this statement truer than in the case of Sam and Dean. Sam, who was more open with his grief and wanted to discuss how he felt; and Dean, who had bottled all his grief down until it came out in bouts of sheer fury. Case in point, Sam noticed the Impala had some new dents on it that were not caused by the accident. Still, the youngest Winchester said nothing about it and simply let his brother work in peace. Yes, he wanted to talk to Dean about this, but all his attempts had been rebuffed. They barely spoke now and Sam was losing hope that Dean and he would ever recover from what happened to their father.

"You eat yet, Sam?" He spun around to see Bobby standing in the hall, expression unreadable, but his eyes were clearly searching for something.

"No," Sam replied. "I'm not hungry." Bobby sighed and muttered a curse.

"Got to eat sometime," He mumbled. "You're skinny as it is." It was their old friend's way of expression concern and Sam shot him a small smile. He knew he still looked awful—hell, his injuries from the accident still hurt—but until Dean was doing better, he couldn't focus on himself.

"Dean still out there?" Bobby nodded as he placed a bot of water on the stove to boil. It appeared that tonight would be Mac N' Cheese, not that Sam minded. He hadn't felt truly hungry in days, but he had forced himself to eat little bits of food here and there with the reasoning that he couldn't help his brother if he himself got sick. As it was, he was having a hard enough time of dealing with his older brother. How could he get through to Dean? How could he make him understand that it was okay to talk about how he felt? All Sam wanted—all he needed—was to know that his brother was dealing with his grief in a semi-healthy way.

And attacking the Impala was a crowbar? That wasn't healthy.

"Dinner will be ready in 15," Bobby informed him, still scanning him over with a critical eye. "Get your brother." Sam nodded and headed outside where Dean silently slaved over the Impala. Standing a few feet away, he waited until his older brother met his gaze.

"Dinner is almost ready."

Dean just nodded and went back to work.

"Dean?" He froze, but didn't look up. "Just—" His voice died off and he shrugged instead. "Never mind."

With that, Sam went back inside.

* * *

While Sam hadn't been the one that had suffered the worst injuries in the car crash, he had—all the same—still sustained quite a bit of damage. He hadn't let the doctors fully look over him, directing their attention to check over his more critical brother and father, which meant that he hadn't been fully treated. Still, confident that every piece of him was still intact and that he wasn't going to bleed out, he had allowed himself to focus only on his father and his brother. He had self-treated his injures—cleaning the cuts, swallowing pain pills when he needed them—and it was only now, days after the accident and their father's death, did he truly feel the aftereffects of surviving the car accident. His head felt like there was a drum in it and with every step he took, the pounding got louder and made it hard for him to focus on simple tasks. His lungs felt constricted due to his sore ribs and after a day of walking around Bobby's house—and facing the dreaded stairs—Sam more often than not collapsed onto the bed from sheer exhaustion. His heart pounding a mile a minute wasn't helping things.

"You sick?" Bobby commented one morning after he forced Sam to eat some cereal. The idea of eating was fully unappealing; however, he forced himself to eat as long at the gruff hunter's gaze was on him.

"Just sore." Sam admitted, which wasn't truly a lie. He just wasn't explaining how crappy he truly felt. Bobby digested this information before sighing softly.

"Should you see a doc—?"

"No, no!" Sam quickly interjected, because no way in hell was he going anywhere near a hospital or a clinic or anything remotely medical. Not for a long time at least. "I've got it under control."

"If it gets worse, you let me know." Bobby told him, concern in his eyes and Sam nodded.

He just wouldn't let it get worse.

* * *

"You know, your brother is hiding something."

Dean dropped the part he had been holding in his hand and turned to face one of their few friends. Bobby wore a look of anger mixed with concern—a rare combination considering the older hunter tended to stay away from dealing with his feelings in general. He and Dean were similar in that fashion.

"What do you mean?" God, he was tired. He was so tired of dealing with all this, dealing with his dad being gone because of him and dealing with his father's last words. He couldn't look at Sam because when he did, all he could do was picture his baby brother bleeding out before him or his eyes going black. His grip tightened and he shook his head slightly. No, he wouldn't let anything happen to his brother. Screw his dad for putting this on him! How could you do that to your son? What gave you the right—?

"He seems sick," Bobby explained. "And he's not eating." Normally, that would stir something up in Dean, but the cold that had settled over his heart didn't thaw. Sam was a big boy; he could handle himself.

"He'll be fine."

"Dammit, Dean, are you even listening?" Bobby growled. "Your brother is hurting just as much as you—"

"What the hell do you know about it?" Dean spat, fury coursing through his veins. "You have no idea how I feel! You have no idea the weight I'm carrying around now—"

"So, what?" Bobby hissed, anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "You're just going to hide out here while your brother lets himself get sick because he's too busy worrying about you?"

"Sam's fine—"

"You fucking idjit!" The older hunter cursed. "Your brother is slipping away, but you're too damn busy pushing him away and avoiding him to notice!"

"Bobby—" With a shake of his head, the older man left the backyard, entering the house and slamming the door. Dean sighed and shakily ran a hand through his hair. Bobby couldn't have been right, could he? Sam was fine, wasn't he?

"What was that about?" His little brother's voice took his off-guard and shifting his gaze to the left, he looked at Sam. Really looked at Sam, for the first time since before the accident. He was paler than usual and he did appear to be skinner than usual. The bruises on his face were more pronounced and the cuts stood out in stark contrast to his ghostly white face. Dean had to admit, Sam did look sick.

"Nothing." He turned away, willing his father's voice to vanish from his mind, willing him to be back, willing him to explain what the hell—

"Really? Because he sounded . . ." His voice faded away and Dean just shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Sam just stood there, as if he was frozen in spot. Dean was about to turn around when he heard it.

Thud.

His brother had collapsed with the gracefulness of the unconscious and suddenly, Dean found himself at his side, hauling his brother's limp—not dead, God, don't be dead—form into his arms.

"Sam?" He questioned, placing two fingers on his neck. "Sammy?" Sam didn't move, didn't even flinch. The worry in the pit of Dean's stomach quickly morphed into panic. "Bobby!"

* * *

The two of them spread Sam out on the couch and Bobby vanished into the other room to fetch a blanket. Dean sat down in a chair he had dragged over and took in Sam's vitals. Nothing too worrying—the eldest Winchester was sure that Sam's lack of appetite had contributed to his fall outside—but seeing Sam so still and sickly scared Dean.

"Here." Bobby passed the blanket to Dean who wordlessly accepted it before draping it over Sam. The youngest Winchester once again did not react, a sign that worried Dean more than he cared to admit. "How's he doing?"

"Heart rate is bit low, but steady." Bobby nodded his head in acknowledgement. Quietly, Dean added, "I never noticed."

"Yeah, well," Bobby shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "Sam probably didn't want you to know."

"But I'm supposed to be looking out for him—!" The older hunter placed a firm hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.

"Don't blame yourself."

"But you were right—"

"Course I was right!" Bobby snorted, a smirk on his lips. "But that doesn't mean that you should do this to yourself. Your Daddy just died Dean and yeah, I lost my patience with you because I could see what was going, but that doesn't mean that this is your fault." And with that, forgiveness was freely given with a small smile on Bobby's lips. "Now, you keep an eye on him. I'm going to call up an old medic buddy of mine and see if he might be able to lend us a hand." Dean nodded and let his gaze fall upon his brother's sleeping form.

"C'mon kiddo," He murmured. "Wake up for me."

But Sam just slept on.

* * *

When Sam finally opened his eyes, a few hours later, his murky hazel eyes met his brother's.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean beamed. "You with me?"

And in that second, Sam knew. He knew that his older brother was back—that while grief still plagued Dean, he wouldn't be consumed by it, not anymore—and that thought relieved Sam more than any medicine ever could.

"Yeah." He whispered and Dean grinned.

"Scared the shit out of me," His older brother remarked. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well? Jesus, you could've—"

And God help him, Sam laughed because this was so like Dean, always talking while constantly worrying. It was his brother at his best.

"Glad you're back, Dean." Those emerald eyes widened a bit in confusion, before comprehension dawned in them.

They sat there—the loss of their father still stinging—but somehow, they both knew that they could overcome it.

Together, they could overcome anything.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ There you go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review! _


	29. Chapter 29: Compassion

_**Author's Note: **__Here's today's prompt! This is from __**TG **__who asked, "Would you consider a story about a compassionate Sam, and Dean doesn't despise him for it? In fact, he might think there's something worthwhile about Sam as a person? (I'll leave the hurt part to your discretion.)" Thank you for the lovely prompt! Please enjoy! This is set in season 6, post "Like a Virgin"._

* * *

Here's the thing about Sam: he's always been more open with his emotions. As a kid, he used to cry over stray cats—_But who will look after them, Dean?—_and he used to feel sympathy towards the people that used to bully him—_He's just lonely, Dean. He didn't mean it._ Even now, one apocalypse and missing soul later, Sam is still capable of falling for anyone's sob story and will drop whatever he is doing to help someone he believes is in need.

So, yeah, maybe Dean is more hardened and cynical in his view. Maybe he believes that the world isn't as good as Sam deems it to be, but he doesn't begrudge his brother his view on life. Yes, sometimes Sam's incessant need to help everyone does get occasionally annoying, but after dealing with soulless Sam for six months too many, it's refreshing to have him back to his normal standards.

At least, it was.

The situation had arisen last night when Castiel had suddenly appeared in Bobby's living room, bleeding and fading fast. The two Winchester brothers had gotten him down on the couch and Dean had been patching up the wound when the Messenger of the Lord had pushed his hands away.

"Cas, what—?" Dean had begun.

"Curse." The angel breathed through ground teeth and Dean instantly understood. Someone—or something—had cursed Castiel so that he wouldn't be able to heal his own injuries. Maybe they had wanted revenge for something or maybe he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time; regardless, there was nothing they could do short of breaking the curse to help their friend.

So, that was what they had done.

Two people researched while the third tended to Castiel, though there wasn't much that could be done. He bled through bandages like no tomorrow and while the injuries weren't life threatening to the angel, they had to hurt like hell.

"Okay," Bobby mumbled, glancing up from his huge book. Dean's gaze was instantly on the older hunter, while Sam's remained focus on the angel on the couch. "Got something."

"Shoot." Dean replied, his full attention on the gruff family friend.

"This curse wasn't designed to be used on angels," Bobby reported. "It's supposed to be used to kill humans within minutes. It can't kill immortal things."

"Then, why would someone cast it on Cas knowing it won't hurt him?" Sam asked quietly, helping the angel drink some water. He smiled softly at the Messenger of the Lord, though it was lost on him as he was consumed by pain. Sam winced at his agonized expression.

"Well, to take him out for a bit," Bobby replied. "With the curse on him, Castiel is stuck. He can't die, but he also can't heal himself—"

"Leaving whoever cast the spell to go back to doing whatever they were doing without Cas getting in the way." Dean completed.

"Exactly." Bobby nodded his head in approval.

"How do we reverse it?" Sam questioned softly, his eyes still trained on Castiel.

"We can't," The older hunter answer. "Least, not while it's affecting Cas."

"So, we're stuck too?" Dean inquired, frustration chipping away at his resolve.

"We could transfer it." Sam spoke up suddenly, his eyes meeting Bobby's gaze.

"Transfer?" Dean echoed, confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Perform a spell to shift the curse from Castiel to someone else." Bobby answered, though his eyes were quickly filling with concern.

"Someone else? Like who?" The eldest Winchester demanded, not liking the strange glint that Sam had in his eyes, like he had already made up his mind.

"Like me." Sam whispered.

"You? Hell no—!" Dean rose from his seat, voice shouting as he crossed to where his brother sat in a chair across from their fallen angel friend.

"Dean, be quiet," Sam admonished gently. "The spell has to be transferred to someone in order to undo it—"

"Then, why not me?" His older brother insisted.

"I have higher threshold for pain than you, Dean." Sam replied, matter-of-factly with a smug smile tugging on his lips. "I mean I survived the Cage, right? I should be able to handle anything else."

"Sam—"

"Bobby," Sam called, ignoring his clearly furious older brother. "Do it."

Dean just stared incredulously at his brother.

* * *

"You sure you want to—?"

"Yes, Dean." Sam replied, voice confident. "I can handle this. You and Bobby already have the counter spell ready to go. I'll just lose a bit of blood and be a little out of it for a bit."

"Sam, this spell is designed to kill people within minutes. We're talking more than a little blood here."

"You and Bobby won't let it take that long." His little brother told him, a confident expression on his face.

"Sam—" His older brother sighed, a protest on his lips.

"Please," The youngest Winchester whispered, puppy-dog eyes unleashing full force on his older brother. "Just let me do this." Dean hadn't had the heart to protest after that. He simply stood by and waited with baited breath as Bobby read the transference spell and then, in a blinding flash, Castiel was completely healed. For a second, Dean thought they had gotten lucky; maybe the spell had fixed everything.

And he watched with wide eyes as blood began to stain Sam's shirt a sickly shade of crimson and as his little brother toppled to the floor, suppressing a moan of pain. He hoisted his brother up and helped him to the couch that Castiel had quickly vacated and glanced at Bobby, who nodded and began to read the spell that would reverse the curse.

"Hang in there, Sammy," Dean soothed, applying pressure on Sam's biggest cut that was bleeding like no tomorrow. "Just hold on." Sam was pale now and still and it reminded Dean of a different time, of a different place when Sam had fallen down and hadn't gotten back up and there had been so much blood then and God, finish the spell already, would you, Bobby?

Then, it was over.

The blood suddenly stopped and the cuts vanished. Sam's eyes flew open and Dean could finally breathe again.

* * *

"I must thank you, Sam." Castiel stood stiffly before the youngest Winchester. His expression was clearly serious, though there was an undercurrent of embarrassment in his tone. The angel had never been good at expressing his emotions, something that Dean enjoyed immensely.

"No prob, Cas." His younger sibling replied, an easy smile on his lips.

"So . . . we are 'cool'?" It must've been a phrase he had heard somewhere and was now trying out and Dean suppressed a laugh. Bobby snorted from across the room, but if Castiel noticed, he didn't let on.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "We're cool."

"Good." Then, with a flutter of wings, he was gone once more.

"So much for that." Bobby scoffed and while Dean did feel burned a bit—what the heck had Castiel been doing in the first place that had caused him to get the curse—he couldn't help but feel grateful that everything had worked out in the end. Sam was okay.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

"So," Dean began, after Bobby had gone to bed muttering something about "damn angels" before clomping up the stairs and leaving the two boys behind. "Is this just a habit for you?"

"What?" Sam questioned, looking completely confused.

"Sacrificing yourself for others," He completed. "Because if it is, it needs to stop."

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Sam muttered, exasperated as he sunk back onto the pillow that Castiel had gotten him. He looked tired and after losing all that blood—thankfully not too much—he probably wanted nothing more but to sleep.

"All someone has to do is show up with a paper cut and you feel the need to take a bullet for them. I wanna know why." Dean leaned up against the wall, hands folded across his chest as he waited for his little brother to answer.

"Dean—"

"Why, Sammy?"

A long pause passed before Sam finally spoke.

"Because everyone deserves to be saved."

Sam shut his eyes and drifted off the sleep, leaving Dean to ponder over his statement. In his lifetime, Sam had bled more often for someone else's wellbeing than his own. He had taken bullets for strangers he barely knew, he had let himself be taken in order to rescue friends and he had damned himself to Hell to save a world that would never know of his sacrifice. That had always been Sam's nature and while Dean found it worrying—he couldn't help but wonder if Sam would one day die to protect someone else instead of watching his own back—he understood that it was who Sam was. Hell, he was proud that Sam was like this—it was one of the many reasons why he loved the kid so much.

And while Dean wished Sam would think a little bit more before deciding to possibly be a martyr for someone else's cause, he understood why Sam did it. He understood that to Sam, losing his own life was preferable than to losing someone else's. To Sam, a civilian's life was worth ten of his and dying for a friend was better than losing them.

Yeah, Dean understood why Sam did what he did, but that didn't mean he approved over all of it.

After all, Sam may have been ready to sacrifice himself for someone, but that didn't mean Dean would let him. For Dean, a life without Sam wasn't a life at all. So, it would appear they were at an impasse.

"I'll look after you, Sammy." He whispered to the sleeping figure before settling into an armchair himself and shutting his eyes.

Sam would protect others and Dean would protect Sam—end of story.

And together, they would save as many people as they could.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ So, there you go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review! _


	30. Chapter 30: What I've Missed

_**Author's Note: **__Happy New Year's! Sorry for my extended absence, I was busy dealing with real life. Anyways, I'm back and here is a nice prompt from __**Priya723**__, who asked for, "Weechester possibly with Baby Sam and John by side, also together with our dean! Any kinda cute hurt baby Sam would do!" Surprisingly, this prompt was a huge challenge. I'm not used to writing the boys when they're little, but it is nice to push myself! Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy! So, Sam is one here and Dean is five. Also, I miss Bobby a lot so he ended up in this piece too. Please enjoy!_

* * *

Of all the crises that Bobby thought he would be involved, somehow this one topped it all. For there was John Winchester—a brand new hunter, only in the life for six months—standing on his doorstep with little Sam in his arms and Dean on his side. John's face conveyed the sheer fear that must've been coursing through his system, his eyes wide and bloodshot. Dean glanced up at his father and appeared to be on the verge of tears. Bobby wasn't close to this little family—he barely knew John and had only met him a few times since John had joined the life—but for the first time since Karen died, he felt something stir within him.

"Come inside." He ordered gruffly, confused as to why he was doing this. He never liked kids and hated company. "What happened?" Bobby glanced around looking for something that could function as a crib for the little baby. The best he could do was an old play pin that Karen had bought years ago when she had been preparing to talk to him about having kids. It brought out bittersweet memories for the gruff hunter, but it would finally prove its usefulness. Gently, John placed Sam down on top of a blanket and gently rubbed Sam's forehead with his thumb. Dean stood up, peering down at the sleeping baby. He glanced at Sam and then back up at his father, as if he asking permission to do something.

"Daddy." Dean prompted and John nodded his head.

"He's okay, Dean," John soothed, though the lie wasn't that convincing and Bobby could see through it. Still, it seemed to placate the young child who then placed his own hand on top of Sam's forehead and frowned with how warm it was. "Just let him rest."

"John," The father met Bobby's gaze and he could see just how exhausted he truly was. Dark bags were under his eyes and Bobby felt a pang of sympathy go through him. "You should get some rest."

John shook his head in acknowledgment, but made no move to rise.

"Daddy," Dean began, tugging on John's arm. "Sammy is still hot."

"I know, kiddo," John replied, ruffling Dean's hair. "We just gotta wait and let the medicine do its job." Dean nodded, though he didn't seem quite convinced with this answer.

"Dean?" The young child glanced at Bobby, as if he was noticing him for the first time. "Why don't you help me make dinner?"

"No, I gotta look after Sammy."

"Dean," Bobby tried again, adding a little sharpness to his tone. "I could really use your help."

"Go on," John told his son, nudging him slightly. "I can watch Sammy for a bit." Reluctantly, Dean nodded his head and made his way to the kitchen while John shot Bobby a grateful gaze.

"You should get some rest." Bobby commented, still not sure why he cared so much about this family's wellbeing. Perhaps because John had lost his wife much like Bobby had lost Karen? Maybe it was because he had a young family he was struggling to raise and protect? Whatever the reason, he found himself wanting to go out of his way to help this man he had only met a few times.

"Not until the fever breaks." John replied.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

"Witch," John whispered, unwilling to have certain little ears pick up on this conversation. Dean was still unaware of what his father did for a willing—something which wouldn't last for long, which grieved Bobby. "Hex bag in the room. Dean found it."

"You got rid of it—?"

"Course," John interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're just dealing with the aftereffects of whatever spell she put on Sam."

And then Bobby did something he never did. He crossed to John and placed a strong hand on his shoulder and said,

"Stay for as long as you need to."

* * *

Sam got better overnight and by the next day, the fever had broken and he was up and about. Dean was relieved and had been talking to his baby brother nonstop while John finally got some sleep. Bobby just enjoyed it. He had forgotten how silent it was in his house and having people run around made him realize how much he had given up after Karen died. He had become a hunter, but he had shunned society and everything it brought. He became a homebody, answering phones and occasionally doing hunts. Having John and the boys here . . . well, it gave him something positive to focus on.

When John finally piled the boys back into the Impala, nearly a week after he had arrived, Bobby had to admit that he was a bit saddened by the fact that they were leaving. It had been nice having people in the house. It reminded him of why he hunted—to keep people like this safe.

"Say goodbye to uncle Bobby, Sammy." Dean whispered and Sam waved enthusiastically.

"Bye, Uncle Bobby!" Sam shouted and John smirked. Bobby couldn't keep the shock off his face. Uncle? He was an uncle? He glanced at John who nodded in silent acknowledgement. A grin tugged at Bobby's face.

"Bye boys." Bobby told them.

He watched them drive away, pleased to find that his heart hadn't hardened as much as he had believed.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This was the hardest chapter for me to write and it turned out more Bobby-centric than I had intended, but I liked how it came out. So, new chapters are coming soon! Please review! _


	31. Chapter 31: All by Myself

_**Author's Note: **__I'm so sorry for the long delay! I took a bit of a vacation and just relaxed for a bit. Anyways, I'm back now! Please look forward to daily updates once again. Tonight's prompt is from __**penelopegraceful**__ who asked for, "a teenchester story, maybe Sam is around 13, and he is a bit depressed because John and Dean left him at a motel while they went on a hunt and while they are away Sam gets hurt but tries to deal with it himself. Eventually John and Dean realize that Sam is hurt and then feel guilty." Per your request, Sam here is 13 and Dean is 17. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Tell me that it's nobody's fault_

_Nobody's fault_

_But my own." _

—_Beck, "Nobody's Fault But My Own"_

* * *

He's used to being alone.

Now that he's 13, he's been left alone while his father and Dean have gone on countless hunts. This week, he's holed up in the small, dilapidated house that they've rented for the month while both John and Dean are off chasing down a Skinwalker. He's been alone countless times before this, but that doesn't make the fear and loneliness go away. There's always the possibility that a hunt will go wrong and either his father or Dean could get hurt or worse. Sometimes, hunts get delayed by days and Sam never knows for sure whether his family is alive or not. It's this fear that claws at the edges of his sanity and if not for all the times that his family has walked through the door alive and well, it would probably destroy him.

_"The number you are trying to reach is currently out of service—"_ He slams the phone down and curses under his breath. It's been two days since Dean last checked in and one day longer than the hunt was supposed to take. They're late and it scares the shit out of Sam. Maybe his brother and father are lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding out without anyone to help them—

"No." Sam hisses, forcing the panic to subside. Dean and his father have been late before. Hunting isn't a cut and dry business—they're can be problems that take days to resolve. He nods, letting logic and past experience calm him. Dean and his father will be fine. They're always fine in the end. Sam just needs something to distract him for a bit.

It's then that he decides to head to the library.

* * *

The library is a good 20 minute walk away from their current house and though it's freezing outside, Sam welcomes the cold. It helps numb him to the fear that is still attempting to consume him. His body involuntarily shivers, but he can't feel it. The cold is nice and it gives him something else to focus on. When he finally steps into the library, his lips are nearly blue, but his mind his clear.

"Oh, goodness!" Mrs. Malone exclaims from her desk. The matronly woman bustles over to him, fiddling with his jacket and brushing his hair out of his eyes. She's in her mid-50's, but has kind eyes that sparkle whenever she's enjoying a good book. "Sam, you're positively frozen!" She grins at him and he shoots her a smile back. Since Dean and John left two weeks ago, Sam's been spending plenty of time at the library, often staying till closing at 6pm. In the course of his time there, he's become well acquainted with Mrs. Malone.

"I'm f-fine." He tells her, teeth chattering.

"Oh, dear," She sighs. "Why don't I get you a cup of tea?" She disappears into the backroom and Sam settles at one of the grand tables, instantly relaxing. This is his sanctuary—this has always been his place of refuge. Lost in the pages of a good book, Sam frees himself from whatever fear or worry that's been plaguing him. It's his escape from a life that he wants no part in.

He doesn't want to be a hunter.

"Here you are." She places the steaming mug down and grins at him.

"Thank you." He takes a slow sip of the warm liquid and feels the shivers dissipate. Mrs. Malone nods her head before returning to her desk. There are only a few people in the library today, which doesn't bother Sam. He pulls out a copy of a Sherlock Holmes novel and lets himself be sucked into that world.

* * *

Three days.

A hunt has never gone on this much longer than originally planned and Sam is starting to think that it's time to call Bobby or Pastor Jim. He still clings to hope though—maybe they'll walk through the door right now, maybe they're just lost, maybe the Impala broke down; though he admits the last one is far fetched—and it is this hope that makes him hang up before he even completes the call. Dean and John are fine.

They have to be fine.

Sam decides he needs to get his mind off of things—he cleans the house, organizes his duffel, checks the salt lines—and it's as he's cleaning his knife, that it happens. He does the one thing he was never supposed to do—get distracted. The blade cuts cleanly through his palm and with a hiss, Sam glances down to see the deep cut. Blood drips down onto the floor, some of it landing on the knife that had clattered to the floor. It's a deep cut—one that clearly requires stiches—but Sam has never done such a thing before. He dashes for a cloth and applies pressure on the wound, willing for the blood flow to stop and then panicking slightly when it doesn't.

He hates being alone.

He wishes Dean were here. Dean always knew what to do. He wants his father here too. Sure, John would lecture him for being careless, but John would also put in the stiches so quick that Sam would barely notice they were going in.

Instead, he's alone.

And if Dean and John didn't come back—

"No." He shakes his head, dispelling the horrible thought from his head before it takes hold. He needs to get this wound treated. He needs to focus on that.

Deal with this first and then the other.

* * *

"Oh, Sam!" Mrs. Malone exclaims as he runs into the library, bloody rag still pressed to his hand. "What happened?" He lies and manages to pull it off partly because of the tears welling in his eyes and the panic that he's feeling. He explains that his family is out of time and he doesn't know what to do. The kindly librarian simply puts a hand on her shoulder, grabs her car keys and closes the library early. "Hospital is a five minute drive. Let's go."

"Thank you." He manages to say, but she brushes it off with a small smile.

"Come on, honey."

With a reassuring hand on his back, she leads him to her car.

* * *

In the end, he gets his hand stitched up and a sharp order from both the doctor and Mrs. Malone to stay away from sharp objects and rest. It's hard to rest; however, when you're constantly wondering if you're an orphan because now it's day four and Sam still hasn't heard from either his brother or his father. In hunting, the adage "no news is good news" doesn't apply. No news means you're dead and lying in a ditch somewhere. He needs to call Bobby or Pastor Jim, he knows, but if he does so, Sam will be admitting that his brother and his father are in a bad situation.

The phone rings, breaking his silent reverie and instantly Sam has the receiver in hand.

"Hello?" He holds his breath as he waits, wishing for his brother to be on the other line.

_"Sammy." _Dean greets, exhaustion lacing his tone.

"Dean," Sam breathes, feeling some of the tension drain from his body. "Are you okay? Is Dad—?"

_"We're fine," _His older brother interjects quickly. _"It just took a lot longer to get the stupid son of a bitch. We're on our way now, okay? Our ETA is about 10 hours." _

"Good." The littlest Winchester replies, just so relieved to hear his brother—alive—on the line.

_"You okay, Sammy?" _There it was—the protective streak that ran a mile wide when it came to his brother. Dean's need to know everything that happened to Sam sometimes got annoying, but after times of intense stress, it could also be downright comforting.

"I'm fine, Dean."

He'll explain what happened to him once Dean returned.

_"See you tomorrow." _

"Bye, Dean."

And he hangs up, finally feeling like he can breathe for the first time in four days.

* * *

His father and Dean stumble in the next morning and Sam feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He throws his arms around Dean, not caring if he'll be called a girl for this kind of interaction and feels pleased when his older brother returns the hug. His father ruffles his hair affectionately before collapsing onto his bed, falling asleep as soon as his face hits the pillow.

"You're not tired?" Sam questions as Dean raids their pathetic excuse of a fridge.

"Nah," His older brother replies. "Slept in the car."

"I'm glad you're back." He whispers, a careful admission and Dean shuts the fridge before spinning around to stare at his little brother with a trained eye.

"Sammy?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Dean retorts, pulling up a chair to sit at the counter next to Sam.

"I just . . . you guys were four days late and I thought . . ." His voice trails off and he sees the realization spark in Dean's eyes. His brother, in a gesture so unlike the strictly manly persona he put forth, grabbed Sam's hand within his own and squeezed.

Causing Sam to wince as pressure was applied on his stiches.

"What?"

"Dean, wait—" But it's too late. His brother is already turning over his hand and is staring at the neat line of stiches.

"What the hell happened?" His older brother growls, eyes pooling with concern though his tone is murderous; he's ready to kill whoever caused this.

"I cut myself." Sam replies quickly.

"You what?"

"What is with all the noise?" John calls, as he leans against the kitchen doorway that connects the room to the hall. "Dean?"

"Sam got stiches." Dean reports and instantly his father's demeanor shifts from exhausted to concerned.

"Sam?" John questions.

"I cut myself," Sam repeats. "I was cleaning stuff while you guys were . . . gone." He glances away, but he can practically feel the shift in the room as comprehension dawned in the minds of the two older Winchester men.

"Sammy." His father is kneeling now, making eye contact with him.

"I'm sorry—"

"Sam, look at me." The youngest Winchester does so and is rewarded by his father's soft smile.

"Yeah?" He mumbles.

"I'm sorry that we took so long." It's an apology—a rare thing coming from John Winchester—but it makes Sam grin.

"I am too." Dean adds quietly.

There are no promises for change in the future and Sam understands that he'll be left alone again, until he's old enough to come on more difficult hunts. Still, there's something about seeing the guilt in his father's eyes that gives him hope. Maybe next time, things will be better.

"Dean?" His older brother stiffens.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Go to the store and get us some hot chocolate." Dean appears shocked by this order but nods his head before grabbing the keys and darting out to the Impala.

In the future, Sam would look back on this moment with a mix of incredulity and anger. Incredulous because his father had actually smiled and anger because John had thought that bribing him with sweets could solve serious problems. Still, for that one moment in Sam Winchester's life, everything was perfect. He had been a normal kid who was going to have hot chocolate with his family.

For that one moment, Sam Winchester had everything he could've ever wanted.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, there you go! Again, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update. Daily updates will be coming until all the prompts are finally done. Okay, please review if you have a second! _


	32. Chapter 32: Recollection

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, so remember when I said I was done with the Christmas prompts? Well, it turns out I skipped one. __**twomoms**__, I am so sorry for missing your prompt the first time around! To make up for it, here's your "John actually being there on Christmas Day with a couple of gifts and Sam being sick with a fever" prompt. Again, so sorry for the delay! I've spiced things up by going in 2__nd__ person POV. Please enjoy!_

* * *

It's funny what memories you recall when you're sick.

You're lying in a hospital bed on Christmas with a fever of 105. The doctors are baffled as to what brought the fever on, but you're responding well to medicine and they're optimistic that you'll be released soon. Jessica is at your side—she refused to go home once she found out just how sick you were—and she smiles softly at you as her cool hands gently push your hair out of your eyes.

"Just hang in there, Sam," She whispers. "Just hold on." You blink and suddenly Dean is sitting in Jessica's place and your big brother has a wet cloth in his hand.

"Sammy, just hold on." He tells you gruffly, eyes swimming in concern and suppressed fear. You tilt your head to the side, wondering why your brother is here. It's been almost two years since you've talked with him as your last conversation ended in a bitter argument over your refusal to return to hunting and Dean's rejection of your desire to live a normal lifestyle. Still, you'd be lying if you said that seeing your brother wasn't a relief.

"Sam?" Another blink and he's gone. Jessica frowns as she glances at your monitors. "Let me get a doctor, okay?" She presses her icy lips to your forehead before vanishing down the hall, leaving you alone once more.

"Sam," A sharp voice breaks the silence and you force your eyes open. Your father stands before you, arms folded over his chest and his eyes staring at you with blatant disapproval in them. He's leaning against the back wall and shaking his head while sighing. "I taught you better than this."

"No." You whisper. Your father taught you how to hunt—how to chase down creatures in the night in order to protect a clueless public, how to sacrifice everything you've ever wanted all for a mission of revenge. Your father told you to leave and never come back; you just followed orders. And suddenly, he's gone and you're left with the constant beeping of the monitors. You wish you could sleep, but the darkness burns and freezes you all at the same time and nothing makes sense anymore. Still, your eyelids slip shut.

"Sammy, look!" Dean's voice is loud and you force your eyes open only to see yet another motel room. The hospital bed has been replaced with scratchy off-white sheets and you're lying propped up by uncomfortable pillows. Your older brother is grinning like an idiot and he's holding out gifts—actual, real, not stolen gifts—and you beam in response. "Dad's back!"

"How you feeling, Sammy?" Your father ruffles your hair affectionately and suddenly, you remember this. When you had been ten, you had gotten sick with a fever after spending a day playing in the snow without a jacket. Dean had chewed you out over it, but it ended up being the best Christmas you had ever had. Your father hadn't had a hunt then and was actually in a good mood. It's always been your best memory of your father.

"Good, Dad." You rasp, though you wonder why he doesn't notice that you're no longer ten, but 20. Still . . . dream or not, you've always wanted to go back to this Christmas.

"He sounds like crap." Dean interjects.

"Shut up." You protest weakly, but your father chuckles dryly.

"Sam just needs to rest," John replies. "You'll be feeling better in no time." He sits down on the bed across from you and then motions for Dean to hand him a gift. Your older brother does so with a smirk.

"Dad?" Your father holds out the gift.

"Here, Sam," He says. "For you. Open it." Your eyes widen and you grin as you tear into the wrapping paper. You pull out a small book. Smiling, you realize it's a _Sherlock Holmes_ novel. "You like it?" Your father fidgets nervously.

"I love it." You reply and the tension drains from the room.

"Great." John answers.

_His fever's spiking. _

You spin around, wondering where the voice came from.

_Get some help in here!_

"Dad? Can you hear—?" But your father ignores you as he watches Dean open his first gift.

_Sam? Sam, please—!_

And just like that, you're back in that hospital room with a teary-eyed Jessica staring down at you. She kisses your forehead again and clutches your hand like it's her lifeline. You muster up a reassuring smile that seems to placate her.

It's funny the things that you recall when you're sick. It's been a good three years since you've thought of that perfect Christmas morning. You never thought you would relive it ever again, but you understand now what triggered it. It's all quite similar really.

"His fever's breaking." The doctor reports; Jessica breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank God." She murmurs.

As you stare up at the ceiling, you wonder what your dad and Dean are doing now. Are they celebrating together? Are they out hunting? Do they miss you?

Because, you realize now that you really miss them. Yes, you had to leave to come to Stanford and you don't regret that. It's just . . . you wish things could've been different. Or maybe, you wish that you had treasured the good memories a bit more.

Either way, you want your family by your side.

It's a wish that won't be granted.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I really like how this chapter turned out! I hope you did too! Please review! _


	33. Chapter 33: A Rock and a Hard Place

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, so let me answer a question that I've been getting a lot. Will I be doing another series like this? The answer is yes, but it would probably be in May or Early June. This story is exhausting honestly because I update every day and so once I'm done with this, I really need to recharge my batteries and also focus on my other fanfics. But yes, don't worry if you didn't find this story in time to submit a prompt! I will be doing another collection like this eventually. _

_ So, onto tonight's prompt from __ who asked for, "Sammy ends up sick, he doesn't tell Dean, and while hunting he gets a foggy head which ends up with him breaking his leg." This was fun to write! Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy! This is set towards the start of season 5._

* * *

"_Cause I'm already sold on ending up alone."_

—_Greg Laswell, "Salvation Dear"_

* * *

Sam keeps waiting for Dean to leave.

He keeps waiting for his older brother to throw his hands up in defeat, mutter a curse and then just walk out of whatever crappy motel room is currently serving as home and never come back. His dreams are filled with images of Dean's retreating form as he vanishes down a dirt road. It's not like Sam would blame him if his brother chose to leave—he did free Lucifer after all and he did lie—but he kind of wishes that Dean would just get it over with. The anticipation is slowly killing Sam and he finds himself watching what he says in the hopes that he won't say something that will send his older brother away. Because, truth is, Sam needs Dean by his side. With Lucifer haunting him and the end of the world on his shoulders, Sam can barely keep his head above water. If it weren't for Dean's presence, he would be drowning.

"Sam?" Dean's staring at him, an odd glint in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Fine." He's scared of being left behind, of being turned into a puppet, of being forced into something he had never wanted a part of. Still, he plasters a fake smile on his face and lies.

"You sure?" Dean's expression has softened and a pang of guilt washes through Sam. He doesn't deserve this—Dean's attention. He deserves to go lie down in a ditch somewhere and do the world a favor and die.

"Yeah, Dean." Sam hits a few random keys on the keyboard and pretends to research. His older brother runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

"Good, cause I've got a hunt for us."

* * *

Research takes three days and during those three days, Sam feels progressively worse. What started out as a weird disjointed feeling in his head has turned into a major pounding and a feeling like his mind weighs a 100 pounds. It's a stupid cold, but even so, all Sam wants to do is curl up under the sheets and sleep for a week.

He doesn't tell Dean. He can't let his older brother think he's weak. Sam's got to pull his weight, after all. The true, and more selfish reason, why he doesn't tell Dean is because he fears that it will be the straw that broke the camel's back. Dean will walk out and leave him alone and then Lucifer will—

"Got everything?"

"Y-yeah." Sam stutters, putting forth a calm façade.

"Okay," Dean still has that weird look on his face, like he knows something is up, but he doesn't say anything. "Let's go get this son of a bitch then."

* * *

The creature—Sam can't remember exactly what they're hunting—lives up in the mountains and it takes a good hour to hike up to the spot where the recent bodies had been found. Through it all, Sam's eyes dart around, never able to focus on anything and his feet barely move from the ground. He's messed up, he knows, but he can't risk losing Dean. If he lost Dean, Lucifer would get him and then he'd be—

And then suddenly, the ground beneath him is gone and Sam is tumbling down. Rocks bite into him as he rolls down before a boulder finally stops him with a sickening thud. Dean's voice is calling to him, though the sound is distant and Sam can't really focus on it. The trickle of blood down the back of his neck worries him, but it's his left leg that hurts. It's angled awkwardly between the boulder and a log and attempting to move it just causes a wave of acute pain to wash through him.

"Sam!"

He wants to call out, but nothing seems to be working and his leg hurts and he's cold and Dean, please don't go—

Then, darkness.

* * *

_"You will say yes, Sam." Lucifer tells him with a smirk. _

_ "No." Sam protests._

_ "Dean will leave you and then, you'll be mine." Sam shakes his head because he doesn't want to believe the fallen angel. But, some part of him knows it's a possibility. Dean could get fed up and leave. Hell, Dean could've left already—_

_ "I've got you, Sammy." _

_ Sam looks around._

_ "Dean?" He calls out as Lucifer fades._

_ "Just hang in there." _

_ And then the darkness turns to light._

* * *

"Hey there," Dean greets, a tired grin on his lips. Sam glances at him and then back at his leg, which is now in a cast. Puzzled, he faces Dean once more. "Only you would get yourself literally get caught between a rock and a hard place."

"What?" His mind is still a little fuzzy.

"You fell, dude," His older brother states. "Doc says you were sporting a high fever which might've caused your trip." His brother's emerald eyes filled with guilt and concern. "I . . . I didn't even notice, Sam—"

"S'not your fault." Sam slurs, the medication impairing him. "Didn't want you to know." Confused, Dean's tilts his head to the side and stares at him oddly.

"Why?" Sam glances away. "Why, Sammy?"

"Cause you'll leave." He whispers, wanting Dean to hear it, but at the same time not. There's a pause and he can feel tension radiating from his older brother's form. This was it; he was going to go—

Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly within his own. Eyes flashing with determination, he made sure Sam met his gaze.

"I'm not leaving you, Sam," He swears fiercely. "Not again."

Sam grins, feeling the weight off his shoulders leave. Sure, he's sick and his leg is broken, but all things considered, it could've been worse. He believes Dean—he trusts him not to vanish into the middle of the night. They are the Winchesters and they don't leave their family behind. Besides, they have an apocalypse to prevent.

It was them against the world after all.

"Jerk." Sam huffs, eyes closing. Dean chuckles dryly.

"Bitch."

Sam falls asleep and for once, doesn't dream of Dean vanishing never to be seen again.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you have a chance! _


	34. Chapter 34: Food for Thought

_**Author's Note: **__Two chapters today since I skipped updating last night. Today's first prompt comes from __**Jaden Grace1**__ who gave me two choices and as I wanted something less dramatic and fun, I've decided to go with her second prompt which was "cheese puffs". Not going to lie, this took me awhile to figure out, but I loved it so thank you so much for this prompt!_

* * *

Living life as a hunter, food is never a big deal.

There's never a debate about what's for dinner because it all depends on how close you are to finishing the job and whether you can afford to get anything. Food for hunters usually comes in a bag, dripping with grease and probably a side of heart disease—not that hunters live long enough to experience that little problem that comes with living a life eating fast food. Being a hunter, you can't afford to be picky when it comes to food. Food is just required to fuel you and get you through the next hunt.

It's with this philosophy that Sam has been raised. Sure, during the years he's lived with his father and brother, he managed to find certain foods that agreed with him—cheese puffs when he had been younger and salads when he had gotten older—but he had never been to a fancy restaurant or anything like that.

"Would you relax?" Brady tells him as Sam fidgets with his jacket in front of the mirror in their dorm room. If Dean were here, he'd probably toss out some remark about how much of a girl Sam was being, followed by some piece of advice. The youngest Winchester smiles softly, practically hearing Dean's voice in his ear coaching him. It's been six months since they last spoke—they had fought over Sam's refusal to call their father and Dean's rejection of Sam's lifestyle—and neither brother had made the move to bridge the gap.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Sam questions nervously. He's been on dates before, but never a blind date and frankly, he's not sure if this is the best idea.

"Dude," Brady says with a sigh. "Jessica will love you! I mean, you're the hot shot young lawyer—"

"Not yet." Sam interjected quietly.

"—and she's going to be the next famous author!" His roommate plows on, ignoring Sam. He pushes Sam's arms down, which prevents him from fixing his collar. "Look, do you trust me?"

"_Do you trust me, Sammy?" His older brother holds out the pulled pork sandwich that's drenched in so much barbecue sauce that the bun is pretty much nonexistent. Still, Dean's been raving about these sandwiches for weeks, ever since he first tried one on their last hunt in Louisiana. Reluctantly, Sam extends his hands forward and grabs the sandwich. He takes a small, tentative bite and then grins as the wonderful flavor washes over his tongue. Dean smirks. "Told you so." _

"Sam?" Brady is waving a hand in front of his face now and the memory is gone. "You okay?"

"Fine. Yeah." Sam replies, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay," Brady opens the door that leads out into the hallway that connects their room with the others on their floor. "Get going! You won't want to keep Jessica waiting, I promise you."

And with that, he pushes Sam out the door and slams it behind him.

* * *

Jessica Moore is the prettiest girl that Sam has ever seen.

He's not simply saying that—it's true. Her blonde hair, which she's curled into ringlets, seems to glow under the lighting of the restaurant. Her blue eyes sparkle with emotion whenever she speaks about something she's passionate about. Her makeup is tastefully done, something that Sam appreciates. It shows she's confident in her own skin and that she knows that she doesn't need the makeup to feel pretty. She's also hilarious and he finds himself laughing within the first five minutes of their date.

Sam makes a note to buy Brady something to show his appreciation for setting this date up.

"So," Jessica is leaning in on her elbows, her hands supporting her chin. "This is probably the most important question that I need to ask." Sam stiffens, as her expression grows serious. "Do you like chocolate?"

"_Do you like chocolate?" His father glances down at him. It's a rare treat being taken out for ice cream. Usually, they didn't have the money for it and even if they did, their father never wanted to stay in town long enough to go find an ice cream shop. Still, today was a good day. Dean was already happily licking his own chocolate ice cream cone and acting like a carefree child. "Sammy?"_

"I actually like vanilla more." He answers and she beams.

"Me too!" She begins to laugh and he finds himself laughing along side her. They order dessert to share and he walks her back to her room. Then, as they pause outside her dorm room, she stares up at him. He hesitates, unsure if he's allowed to kiss her or not. Before he can make a move, she's leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss on his lips.

It's the best kiss he's ever had.

"I'll see you around, Sam Winchester." She tells him with a coy smile as she vanishes into her room.

"Yeah," Sam breathes, feeling purely content. "You will."

* * *

After filling Brady in on the details of his date—"Dude, you so owe me!"—Sam pulled out his cellphone and stared at the screen. It's been six months and though he doesn't regret walking out the door that night, he does miss his family. Pressing dial before he change his mind, he places the phone to his ear.

"_Hello?"_

It's Dean—alive, safe—and Sam is overcome. A pang of longing washes over him and Sam forces himself to maintain his composure. He will not bawl like a baby over the phone.

"Hey, Dean." Sam whispers.

And just like that, the gap between the two worlds—hunter and civilian—closes a little bit.

"_Hey, Sammy. How's school?"_

That night, Sam talks until he's hoarse, but he doesn't care. He's just glad that he isn't as alone as he first thought.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, there wasn't too much hurt in there, but I kind of focused on the angst that Sam must've felt at Stanford. Anyways, please review and let me know what you thought! Thanks!_


	35. Chapter 35: Family Ties

_**Author's Note: **__Today's prompt comes from __**Avalonemyst**__, who requested, "Sam learns goats can be more dangerous than chucabras." By far, this is one of the most challenging prompts I have gotten, but thank you for submitting. Sam here is 4 and Dean is eight. Also, I'm throwing in some Bobby for fun! Please enjoy!_

* * *

"A petting zoo!" Sam exclaimed, bouncing up and down, eyes widening with sheer joy. Bobby grinned. Gruff façade aside, he adored the two Winchester brothers. He thought of them as his family and whenever he could play the part of an awesome uncle, he did. Case in point, taking the two boys down to the local petting zoo that some of the farmers that set up. They did one every year, after all the baby animals had been born, but Bobby had never imagined that he would go visit it.

"Sammy, they'll have lots of cool stuff there." Dean informed his little brother, excitement evident in his eyes as well. Even with main responsibility of caring for his little brother squarely on his shoulders—John did what he could, but the man was still too caught up in his own grief to truly be a father—Dean still enjoyed such things as petting zoos. Sure, he would grow out of them soon, but Bobby was pleased that that time hadn't come yet.

"Like what, Dean?" Sam pressed, holding his arms out as Dean helped him put on his jacket. It was early in Sioux Falls and the cool wind was chilling the town. It wasn't too bad, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Like baby animals." Dean replied.

"You'll like it, Sam," Bobby assured the kid while ruffling his hair. Sam giggled and Bobby beamed. "Let's get a move on boys." He grabbed his truck keys and the two boys followed behind him. He helped hoist Sam into the truck and then walked around to the driver's side. Buckling his seatbelt and checking to make sure Sam and Dean had done the same, he grinned.

When Karen had been alive, he had never wanted kids. His own father had been crappy and Bobby hadn't wanted to take the chance that he would end up the same. He had been content with his decision and it was only recently that he found his attitude towards kids softening. In his mind, Sam and Dean were just as much his kids as they were John's.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked, staring pointedly at the keys that were in ignition.

"Oh." He turned on the car.

And then they were off.

* * *

It took all of five minutes for Sam to find a friend among all the baby animals—a little baby goat named Striker. He was only a few weeks old, yet he was the most energetic baby animal there. He bounced and leapt over anything he could manage. Sam fell in love with him and Bobby watched with minor amusement over how Sam babbled to the baby goat that seemed to be talking right back to him. It was quite cute actually, not that Bobby would ever admit that out loud. Dean, for his part, had fallen in love with a puppy. The dog's Mom was sitting in the corner of the petting zoo pen, watching over all the animals with a careful eye, much like Bobby was. It figured that Dean would bond with the future herding dog—they were bred to protect things after all, much like Dean's mission in life was to protect Sam.

"Uncle Bobby!" Sam exclaimed, waving with a dopey grin on his face. Bobby chuckled and waved back, a wave of happiness filling him. It had been so long since he had just taken time to sit back and enjoy life. His days were filled with research for other hunters and his nights were plagued with dark dreams about Karen. This moment—Sam smiling, Dean enjoying himself—made all the sacrifices worthwhile.

This is what he fought to protect.

The dog let out a menacing growl and Bobby stiffened. Dean was still absorbed with the puppy and didn't seem to be in immediate danger, but Sam—

A goat twice his size with horns to match was staring Sam down. The baby goat cowered behind Sam, but the littlest Winchester wouldn't back down. The mean looking goat—yeah, it was threatening his kid, so he would call it whatever he wanted—had somehow stumbled into the pen. The fence was low enough; he probably jumped in, and was now advancing on Sam. Instantly, Bobby was moving, but it was hard with the baby animals and little kids running around. Before Bobby could reach Sam, the goat charged and Sam went flying back as the horns connected with his tiny chest.

"Sam!" Bobby exclaimed. The puppy's mother quickly bolted to where the goat was and growling, she chased to the goat out while Bobby picked up Sam. The baby goat made distressed noises and Sam stirred. Tears shone in his eyes and Bobby smiled sympathetically at him. "Hey, Sammy, you alright?"

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, puppy at his heels. "Sammy, you okay?"

"My chest hurts," Sam wheezed and Bobby nodded. Lifting up the little boy's shirt, Bobby grimaced at the clear bruises that were already beginning to form. Poking the boy's side, he was pleased to see that nothing was broken. "S'okay?"

"Yeah, kiddo," Bobby answered. "You just got the wind knocked out of you." Sam nodded his head, but tears flowed down his cheeks and Bobby's heart broke to see him like this. Pulling the little boy to him, he wrapped Sam in a warm embrace while Dean placed a comforting hand on his back.

"You're good, Sammy," Dean assured his sobbing little brother. "Dude, you were so brave! You took on that goat by yourself! That was so cool!"

"R-really?" Sam questioned, wiping his eyes. Dean nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah!" He shouted. "Even Uncle Bobby couldn't have done that."

"He's right," Bobby answered. "You stood your ground. I'm proud of you." And just like that, Sam was grinning again even through his tears. Confident that the boy was okay, Bobby placed him down on the ground while Dean steadied him. The little goat nudged him and Sam pet him.

Soon, Sam was running back around, the baby goat by his side.

The dog came to rest by Bobby; her eyes focused on Sam and a thought suddenly came to him. Heading over to one of the farmers, he asked,

"How much is that puppy?"

* * *

Years later, Sam was lying on Bobby's couch; a bandage on his arm after a chupacabra clawed him. Dean was out on a food run—the boy had been hovering ever since he had brought Sam and Bobby knew the older brother needed a breather—which left the older hunter alone with the now 14-year-old Winchester. Rumsfeld lay down on the ground, a one watchful eye open as she guarded the hurt boy and Bobby smiled.

"You feelin' okay, Sam?" Sam took a shuddery breath in. Dean had said he'd been knocked down pretty hard and it pained Bobby to hear how crappy Sam's breathing sounded.

"Remember when that goat head butted me?" A wave of nostalgia washed over the gruff hunter and his expression softened.

"That bad?" He ventured a guess.

"No," Sam replied. "That was worse." With that, the youngest member of the Winchester family smirked.

And God help him, Bobby laughed—a real, hearty laugh—for the first time since Karen died.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Y__ay for another Bobby-centric chapter! I really miss him . . . I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment! _


	36. Chapter 36: Mistake

_**Author's Note:**__ Hi there! Only took me 36 chapters to put up a cover image, but I finally did it! Anyways, today's prompt comes from __**LEPrecon**__, who asked for, "During a hunt Sam sprains his ankle [this space in between have fun with it, you can have the witch or demon or whatever they're hunting attack him if you wish] then Dean has to pull it together and help his brother. Takes place after "Sex and Violence"." Thank you for this prompt! I really loved that episode so it was fun to write something about it. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_A strangled smile fell from your face_

_It kills me that I hurt you this way."_

—_Lifehouse, "Whatever it Takes"_

* * *

If there was one thing their father taught them about hunting, it was this. Never—under any circumstances—go hunting with a partner that you have unresolved issues. It will make you sloppy and it will distract you enough that you'll get either yourself or your partner killed. It was a good rule, probably the best that their father had taught them, but both boys had promptly ignored it. The incident with the siren had left them both a little shaken—the harsh words that they had exchanged had cut deep—and though they had claimed to be "okay" with each other, to an outsider, it was clear that this was not so.

"You idjits!" Bobby shouted into the phone. "You two just faced off with the siren a few days ago. Can't ya take a few days off?" The gruff hunter pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair.

_"C'mon, Bobby," _Dean scoffed, cocky façade fully in place. _"We're fine." _

"No, ya ain't!" Bobby replied sharply. "Look, just let this hunt go. I'll find someone else—"

_"Bobby, Sam and I've got this. It's just a witch, right? That's easy." _A soft voice spoke up in the background.

"That Sam? Let me talk to him." Sounds of shuffling filled the line until the littlest Winchester spoke.

_"Hey, Bobby." _

"Sam, you sure you two can handle this? You two only did research for what, a day?" There was long pause before Sam spoke. The older hunter frowned. "Sam?"

_"It'll be fine," _Sam assured him. _"We'll call when we're done." _

And the line went dead.

"Dammit." Bobby cursed softly.

* * *

"So, you two are the famous Winchesters?" The two brothers are standing in the middle of a graveyard. Under the light of the full moon, the witch smirks, her chestnut hair kissing her bare shoulder. It's a warm night and she's dressed in the skimpiest jeans Dean has ever seen—and he's seen a lot—and a midriff. Her cerulean eyes scan them both up and down. "Funny. I always thought you two would be . . . buffer."

"Well, you got us, sweetheart." Dean told her with a cocky grin. Beside him, he heard Sam load his gun. The witch sighed.

"It's a pity," She held her arms out, palms upward. Her eyes flashed an electric blue and the smile faded from Dean's lips. "You two would've been fun to toy with." Sam fired his gun first, yet with a swift move of her hand, the witch sent it back at him. The two brothers dodged.

"Plan?" Sam called.

"Stay alive!" Dean snapped; Sam chuckled dryly. The witch locked eyes with Dean and he felt himself being lifted up by an invisible force. The force tightened, like hands, around his neck, cutting off his oxygen.

"Die, hunter!" Black spots clouded his vision and then suddenly, he was on the ground, lungs heaving in precious oxygen. He glanced up to see the witch bleeding from the front of her shirt. Sam stood behind her, gun smoking. Coughing up blood, she shakily turned around. "W-why?" And then, with one last thrust of her hand, Sam went flying into a tombstone, his leg hitting it and sending him sprawling on the grass. The witch toppled to the ground, her eyes shutting for the last time.

"Sammy?" Dean managed to call, though his throat was on fire and his voice was rough. He could see Sam's still form and a wave of worry hit him. Sam wasn't moving.

Sam wasn't moving. Dean couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

Shit.

"Sammy!" Dean was up now and ran to his brother's side. His ankle was clearly sprained and if they were lucky, it wasn't broken. Pressing a few fingers to Sam's neck, he waited.

There! It was faint, but it was still there. Sam stirred under Dean's touch and muddy hazel eyes soon stared upward at him. Dean smiled, sheer relief coursing through him because dammit, that had been too close.

"M'okay." Sam slurred as he pushed himself up. Dean scanned him with a careful eye, pleased to see that there didn't seem to be any visible injuries, besides Sam's ankle.

"Don't move," Dean ordered gently. "I think you sprained your ankle when that bitch threw you?" He flinched when Sam stifled a moan of pain as soon as Dean's hands barely moved the ankle. "What the hell were you thinking anyways?" Whenever he was worried, he chided Sam. It was just his way of dealing with feeling helpless. He turned that feeling to anger and let that feed him.

"I was saving you." Sam replied calmly.

"By taking on the witch by yourself? That was smart."

"She was choking you!" Sam exclaimed, wincing as he inadvertently jostled his ankle. "What did you want me to do? Let her kill you?"

"Sam—" Dean sighed because that wasn't what he meant. This always happened. He'd snap at Sam for doing something that he would've done in a heartbeat. But dammit, this was too close. He had almost lost his little brother twice in one week and all because of mistakes that he had made.

"No, screw you, Dean!" With that, Sam pushed himself up and would've fallen right back to the ground if his older brother's strong arms hadn't caught him. "Jesus." He moaned as Dean set him back down.

"Easy, easy," He soothed. "You sprained it pretty bad. We've gotta keep you off of it."

"The car isn't that far," Sam mumbled, attempting to push himself up again. "I can do this."

"Yeah, I know," Dean whispered. "Just let me help, okay?" He pulled his brother up and snaked an arm around his waist and held onto Sam's other arm that was draped across his shoulders. "Just take it easy." Together, they began to move back towards the car.

* * *

He should've let Sam do more research.

Looking at his sleeping brother—his ankle wrapped and propped up on 5 pillows—Dean frowned. Their father and Bobby had been right; Dean had rushed into this hunt and look where it had gotten him. He could've lost Sam tonight. If that witch had tossed him a little more to the left, Sam's skull would've cracked and it would've been game over.

Sam could've died and all because his older brother wanted to kill something in order to deal with his frustrations with the siren. The words Sam had hurled at him under the siren's influence had cut deep and all Dean had wanted was to forget that messed up hunt and take his anger out on something else. So, he had hurried Sam along and once Sam knew who the witch was, Dean had made the executive decision to charge in blindly without a plan.

"Screwed up." He mumbled as he took a swig of his beer.

Sure, in the end Sam was still alive, but Dean had still almost gotten him killed. Their father had been right; they couldn't hunt until they worked out their issues over the siren. If that meant enduring a chick-flick moment, then that was what Dean would do.

He had lost Sam once before on a night much like this one. He had cradled his brother's broken body and watched as the lights went out of his eyes. He had died that night too. Without Sam, he lost his purpose, his remaining family. Without Sam, he lost the only person that Dean could actually be himself with. The Dean Winchester the world saw was just a façade. Hell, even with Bobby, he still put some walls up. Only Sam had seen every aspect of Dean and knew him completely. Only Sam could make him angry in one moment and then dying of laughter in the next. Only Sam could make Dean smile. Cold Oak had served as a grim reminder of what could happen if Dean let his focus stray.

And after tonight, he sure as hell wouldn't let it happen again.

Resolved, Dean put his beer on the table, turned off the lights and climbed into his own bed. They still had their issues, but the eldest Winchester believed that they could work them out.

"Good night, Sammy."

Sam stirred, leaning towards his older brother's voice and Dean smiled.

Everything would be okay.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned into more guilty Dean-centric than I had intended but I loved it all the same. I hope you did too! Please review if you have a second! _


	37. Chapter 37: Shattered

_**Author's Note:**__ Hi there! Hope your day is going well. Today's prompt comes from __**maxandkiz**__ who asked for, "Sick Sam (any illness, any reason) with a completely healthy and uninjured big bro Dean taking care of him. Maybe even an appearance by Jody or Ellen for a little mothering?" Thank you for this prompt! I finally get a chance to write Jody. She's one of my favorite characters and she and Bobby had such a great chemistry . . . But I'm rambling. Anyways, please enjoy! This is set in season 7, post Slash Fiction. Please enjoy!_

* * *

There were days—though these days were few and far between—when instead of something supernatural sidelining them, their own bodies would turn against them. Usually, the two brothers would plow on. It was kind of hard to justify sitting out of a hunt just because they had a cold, especially when people were dying. So, the boys sucked it up and pushed past the sucky feelings that illness brought on. Sometimes; however, one of them would catch the flu and that was a whole different ball game. The flu brought a fever into the equation which in turn caused shaking and disorientation.

Both of which Sam had.

"M'fine," his youngest brother mumbled, shaking as he pulled a blanket around him. They were holed up in Rufus' cabin and Bobby was out getting supplies. Since his house had burnt down, they needed to replenish their medical kit anyways and Sam's sudden illness had given them a chance to do so. "We can g-go h-hunt this." Dean frowned and folded his arms across his chest, attempting to utilize his big brother powers to get Sam to accept the fact they weren't going anywhere until he was better. Even more so, the eldest Winchester was worried and he wanted Sam to get better before they went chasing after the Leviathans.

"Dude, you have a fever of 103 and you're shaking like a leaf," Dean chided gently as he grabbed another blanket and draped it around Sam's shoulders. "You honestly think you could go up against a Leviathan when you can't even stand more than ten seconds?" A flash of hurt went through Sam's eyes and Dean grimaced. He knew Sam was sensitive when it came to pulling his weight. His brother—the smartest guy he knew—thought that he was a burden. Sam thought that it would be better if he just laid down and died because he didn't want to saddle Dean with his hallucinations. What Sam didn't understand—though God knows Dean had tried to explain it to him 20 times already—was that Sam could never be a burden. He was his little brother and Dean liked to take care of him. Yeah, the two of them had had their many ups and downs, but at the end of the day, they were family and family looked out for each other.

End of story.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Dean." Sam stuttered as a nasty wave of shakes hit him. Dean winced in sympathy and wished that Bobby would just get back already.

"Just hang in there, okay?" Dean soothed. "Bobby should be back soon. You want some tea?" Sam nodded his head and Dean stepped into the kitchen. Taking the pot of boiling water off the sink, he poured some into a cup and let the tea bag steep.

"Boys?" The door opened and Bobby stuck his head in. Dean grinned as the gruff hunter met his gaze. "How's Sam?"

"Fever is still going up." He reported and Bobby frowned.

"I, um," He cleared his throat nervously and then stepped aside. "I brought some help." Jody Mills sauntered into the cabin, her hands full with various bags.

"Sheriff?" Dean greeted, confusion in his tone. Last time he had checked, the sheriff had been back in Sioux Falls, which was over a day's drive. He glanced outside through the window and saw Jody's car. She had driven here herself? Why?

"Bobby told me Sam was sick?" Dean nodded his head, still waiting for Bobby to explain why she was here. Jody grinned. "I think I can help." With that, she put her bags down on the table and walked into the other room where Sam was lying on the couch.

"Bobby?" Dean prompted and the older hunter sighed softly.

"I figured we could use some help," He admitted. "I mean, with everything that's happening . . ." His voice faded and Dean waited. "She won't get in your way. She's just here in case you need to get some rest. When was the last time you slept anyways?"

Two days ago when Sam had first gotten sick, not that Dean was counting. Yes, he was exhausted, but taking care of Sam was his job and he wasn't going to just stand by and let someone else—

"—h-he won't stop," Sam murmured as Jody knelt on the floor beside the couch. She moved some of Sam's hair out of his face and tenderly smiled. "I want quiet."

"It's okay," Jody soothed, dipping a white washcloth into a basin of water and then gently dabbing it on Sam's face. "Just hang in there, you hear me?" Sam was telling her about Lucifer and Jody wasn't even commenting about it. Dean's gaze darted to Bobby who simply grinned. He hanged Dean a bottle of medicine and the eldest Winchester nodded his thanks.

"Sammy?" Murky hazel eyes opened and met his as Dean entered the living room. Jody stepped back, giving Dean plenty of room. "Time for medicine." He helped pull Sam up and adjust him so he was lying against the pillow. "Nice and slow, okay?" Sam popped the pills in his mouth and then took a sip of the tea that Dean had prepared.

"Thanks." Sam slurred, drowsiness claiming him. Dean yawned just seeing his brother so tired.

"I can look after him," Jody began quietly. "If you want to get some sleep." He thought about it for a second and then nodded his head. Sleep sounded heavenly and if something went wrong with Sam, Jody and Bobby would get him. Hell, he'd probably wake up and know without anyone coming.

"No thanks."

"You're not going to sleep?" Jody questioned, eyes flashing with something Dean couldn't make out. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long."

"Liar. Now, get your butt in that chair before I make you." He blinked, unsure if he had heard her correctly. "Dean," He met her gaze. "I will knock you out if I have to." She smiled sweetly at him and the eldest Winchester could hear Bobby grumbling in the other room. Had she taken on Bobby before?

And before he could even protest, Jody was up and easing him into the chair before wrapping a blanket around him. Dean was asleep within seconds.

* * *

"Lucifer keeps singing," Sam mumbled and Jody nodded her head. "He says you're not real." Dean watched her warily from the kitchen where Bobby was talking—or at least attempting since Dean was keener on Sam than Bobby—to discuss the latest news on the Leviathans. Now, Jody didn't know too much about what exactly Sam, Dean and Bobby did, but they had helped her out and she figured this was one of the few ways she could repay them. It actually made her smile—she hadn't cared for anyone since her son had gotten sick and that had been a lifetime ago. It was nice to feel useful and to actually have a job that didn't involve her arresting someone.

"Now you listen, Sam," Jody began as she dabbed more water on Sam's forehead. His fever had gone down, but refused to break. Jody was beginning to worry and the things Sam told her—things about Hell and about how he was tortured and how he fell into a dark hole—it made her shudder. Still, she had to remind herself that it was just the fever talking. Sam must be one of those people susceptible to fever dreams.

She refused to think about the alternative where Sam was telling the truth and he had been to Hell. Even for Jody, that was too much for her to process. The less she knew about what exactly these boys did, the better. She was walking a thin line, she knew, and at any second, her blissful ignorance could be stripped from her. She knew things went bump in the night. She just chose to ignore them. Maybe that wasn't healthy, but it was how she got by.

"I'm real," She emphasized, holding Sam's palm with the odd scar on it. "I'm not leaving you. Neither is Bobby or your brother." Sam smiled and Jody grinned.

Looks like she hadn't lost her touch yet.

* * *

"Thanks again, Sheriff," Sam said with her a small grin. "I, uh, hope it wasn't too much of a problem." Jody chuckled softly to herself.

"Not a problem at all," Jody replied. "I'm just glad you're okay."

After two days of the sheriff and Dean switching off—though Jody only took care of Sam whenever Bobby needed Dean for something or the eldest Winchester was about to collapse—Sam's fever had finally broken. Dean was ecstatic of course, though he hid it under a façade of teasing that Jody could see easily through. Heading to the door, the sheriff stopped as hand held her back. Turning around, she saw that Dean stood before her, a card in his hand.

"If you ever need anything—" She took the card and smiled.

"You two keep Bobby from getting in too much trouble, okay?" Bobby grumbled and Dean laughed. "And take care of yourselves."

"Yes, ma'am." Dean replied mockingly.

With that, Jody stepped outside and headed to her car. It was a long drive back to Sioux Falls, but she was glad that she had come. Sometimes, she forgot what it was like to care for others. Her own grief for her son had broken her and even now, she was still in the process of putting her heart back together, piece-by-piece. It was nice to care for someone else.

"Getting soft, Mills." Jody chided gently as she got into her car.

Still . . .

Maybe going soft wasn't all that bad? And who knew, maybe with the help of Bobby and those Winchester boys, she'd be able to one day fully give her heart to someone else. Not yet, though. She was still too broken to do that, but maybe someday.

Maybe someday, Jody Mills could handle being a part of someone's family again.

With a soft smile, she turned on the car and began the long trek back home.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned into more Jody-centric than I had planned, but I really love her character. I thought she and Bobby were great together, but that's another matter entirely. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! Please review if you have a second! Thanks! _


	38. Chapter 38: Respite

_**Author's Note:**__ So, I have some news to share. This is the second to last chapter and the last request that was submitted before I closed requests. Tomorrow's chapter will be something that I write based on something I came up with. This is story is about to be completed and I'm a bit sad. All of the prompts I have received have been fabulous, even if they forced me to go beyond my comfort zone. I'm so thankful to all of you who have favorite/followed/reviewed/requested! Your support has been incredible! To those of you that didn't make the time deadline, I will be doing another story like this in either May or June. As it gets closer to those months, I'll post more info about it on my profile. Please stay with me for two more chapters! _

_ So, today's final request comes from,__** Synk**__ who asked for, "Sam ends up with a bad back." Thank you for your request! It was a lot of fun to write! This is set in season 2. Please enjoy!_

* * *

There was just something about Sam that made supernatural beings want to throw him into stuff. Tombstones, poles, walls—Sam had been tossed into them all. Sometimes, the injuries consisted of a few bruises. Other times, Sam was left unconscious and bleeding from wherever his head had connected with the hard object.

"Damn." Sam hisses as Dean pulls him up from the tombstone that he had been flung against.

Tonight, Sam had been lucky. His back had hit the stone hard, but nothing was broken. Sure, he would just be sore for a few days, which sucked, but it was better than the alternative of seeing Sam unconscious.

"She got you good, huh?" Dean questions as he waits to see if Sam can stand on his own. His little brother wavers for a bit, but stays upright which Dean counts as a win.

"You get her?" Sam mumbles as forces his back to bend a bit backwards. He's attempting to gauge how bad it is, but the look of pain that flashes across his little brothers face makes Dean wish that the stupid spirit was alive again just so he could kill her all over again.

"Yep," Dean murmurs. "She went up in flames right after she flung you." He forced a smirk onto his lips in the hopes that Sam wouldn't see how worried he really was. "Dude, why does everyone think it's fun to toss you around?"

"Don't know," Sam whispers, his words coming out as he exhales. It's bad—Dean can see that from the way that Sam looks like he's about to fold and flop back onto the ground. "Shit."

"Need a doctor?" Dean asks, forcing his tone to come off as casual instead of worried. Sam may be standing, yeah, but who knows what damage that bitch could've caused?

"No," Sam breathes, eyes clenched as he deals with the pain. "Just . . . give me a second?" Like Sam even needed to ask—Dean would always cave to whatever his little brother wanted. Bobby used to joke about it when they were littler. The gruff hunter used to say that Sam had Dean wrapped around his finger. It was true, but Dean never minded. His job—his real job, the one that he valued over everything—was to look after Sam. Sam sinks to the grass, grimacing as he sits. Dean plops down beside him and the two sit in a comfortable silence.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam gives a little exasperated sigh. "Look, I'm just checking, because I swear if you get blood in the car, I will end you myself—"

"I'm good, Dean," Sam mumbles. "Just sore."

"Yeah." The eldest Winchester nods his head. They've been through this many times before this. Dean knows the routine, knows what they'll have to do. He'll get Sam into a comfortable bed, hand him the heating pad, get him to take some pain pills and then they'll both sleep for a bit.

"It's funny." He turns his head to glance at his little brother who is staring upwards at the sky.

"What is?"

"How many times have we just taken a moment to breathe?" Dean knows the answer to that—three times maybe. In their line of work, they were always on the move, always travelling from one hunt to the next, never looking back, never stopping to smell the flowers. Dean is content with this, but he knows Sam longs for more. Sam wants out of the life. Sam wants to marry a beautiful girl and settle down and have some kids.

_Not normal. Safe._

And Dean . . . Dean just wants to be at his brother's side. With their father dead, he knows his place is right by Sam's side. He has to find a way to save Sam from whatever it is that their father warned him about. He has to take care of Sam and make sure he comes out of his shell.

It's a job that he treasures more than anything.

"It's a nice night." Dean finally speaks as he follows his sibling's gaze up. The sky is littered with sparkling stars. It's rare, especially when they are so close to a big city. Sam seems captivated by the sky and Dean has to admit, it is a beautiful sight.

"Yeah." Sam agrees. Dean knows he should urge Sam to move because the longer he sits, the sorer his muscles will be, but he doesn't have the heart to end this moment. This was what life was about—his brother by his side, no one to fight and an endless sky before them. There are no responsibilities to think about, no hunt to rush to. There's just him and Sam.

It's always been him and Sam. Don't get him wrong, Dean loved his father, but John had never really been there whenever they had truly needed them. It was Dean who raised Sam. It was Dean who learned how to play poker so he could put food on the table for Sam. It was Dean who acted more like a father than John ever did.

It's Dean that is going to save Sam or die alongside with him.

"Makes you feel small, doesn't it?" His little brother murmurs and Dean nods his head in acknowledgement. They should get a move on before someone finds them and starts asking questions about why a grave his been dug up and what they're doing there with lighter fluid. There are other people out there who need their help. Plus, Sam needs to lie down and take his medicine.

But, seeing the sheer peace on his brother's face, the eldest Winchester doesn't have the heart to say anything.

So, Dean sits by his brother side and stares upward at the starry sky.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, there we have it. Tomorrow will be the last chapter! I really hope you guys have enjoyed the series because I truly enjoyed writing it. I'd love to hear from you, so please review, especially if I fulfilled one of your requests and you never let me know if you enjoyed it. Thanks again for all your support. You guys are amazing! See you tomorrow for the last chapter. _


	39. Final Chapter: Saving Grace

_**Author's Note:**__ Here we are, the very last chapter. Wow. When I began this, I thought this would be a fun little story to do to spread some Holiday Cheer and fulfill people's prompts. It turned into a full blown, updated daily, amazing story. Thanks are in order to everyone who reviewed and gave me support. Some days, I would be so exhausted and not want to write, but your support and kind words helped keep me going. To everyone who submitted a prompt, thank you so much for trusting me with them. They were all so amazing and they all forced me to challenge myself, which is something I really needed to do. To everyone who favorite/followed this story, thank you! It was nice knowing that there were people out there who enjoyed reading my work as much as I enjoyed writing it. And to anyone who just happen to stumble upon this story and read it, thank you! _

_ As I've said before, I will be doing another story like this in May or June. I will post more info on my profile once I've decided. I've also decided to make this holiday-themed version an annual thing. So, come December this year, I will do another version of this and accept holiday prompts once again._

_ So, please enjoy the final chapter. I had a blast writing it. There's a bit of spoilers for season 8 at the end of this chapter, so you've been warned. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_You keep running for another place_

_To find that saving grace."_

—_Tom Petty, "Saving Grace"_

* * *

_September 20__th__, 1983_

"Mommy!" Mary's eyes flashed open as she gazed at four-year-old son. He stood beside her bed, jumping up and down and pulling on her hand. John was at work, leaving Mary to take care of their two children. "Sammy is crying." She suppressed a groan and forced herself into a sitting position.

"Dean," She chided gently, soft smile on her lips. "Sometimes, babies just need to cry." She had explained this concept numerous times, but Dean had rejected it each time. He couldn't fathom how crying was a good thing and refused to stand by and let his little brother wail. He had even tried to handle the situation himself, but luckily, John had moved the stepping stool outside so now Dean wasn't tall enough to reach into the crib.

"Mommy," If she didn't know better, Mary would say that her youngest just rolled his eyes at her. "Sammy is sick."

"He's fine, Dean." She assured him.

"He's sick!" Dean exclaimed, tugging on Mary's hand once more. "Mommy, come on!" She followed her eldest son to Sam's nursery, not surprised to hear Sam wailing at the top of his lungs. Dean had been a relatively quiet baby once he had learned that crying wouldn't always get you attention. Sam didn't seem to be catching onto this lesson as well as his big brother. Picking up the baby, she frowned as she felt the unnatural heat coming off her youngest son's body.

Dean had been right.

"He is sick," She confirmed, voice shaking a bit because how had she missed this and not Dean? "Let me call the doctor."

"Can I hold him?" Without another thought, she placed Sam in his brother's arms.

And that's when Sam stopped crying. Mary froze, eyes widening. Dean had made Sam stop crying. No one could make Sam stop crying.

"Shh, Sammy." Dean soothed, rocking him gently.

"Dean?" Her eldest looked at her. "You're a great big brother."

He beamed and then Mary vanished into the other room, determined to get an appointment for her almost six-month-old son.

* * *

_March 15__th__, 1995_

"Dad?"

John put his drink down and faced his moody, younger son. The gruff hunter braced himself for whatever rebellion Sam would try to start tonight. A week ago, Sam had refused to move until he was done with a school report. Last month, he stopped training just so he could run to meet up with a study group. Sam just didn't seem to care about becoming a hunter.

"Son?" He waited, promising himself that he would not shout this time, no matter what it was. The last time he and Sam had fought, they had both left the room after screaming at each other.

"I think I, um," He fidgeted and John felt nervousness course through his system. He wished, not for the first time, that Dean hadn't gone to Bobby's to help retrieve a book the hunter's library. Dean always knew what was wrong with Sam, even before Sam did. "I . . . my hand . . ." His voice trailed off and he held out his hand for his father to see. It was swollen and bruised, clearly fractured. How had he not noticed this?

"Grab your coat," John instructed. This wasn't something he could fix, not on his own. "Let's go see a doctor, okay kiddo?"

"Yeah." Sam mumbled, voice teeming with an undercurrent of pain.

Dean would've noticed. Dean would've handled the situation. What had John done? He had made his son so afraid of talking to him that even when he was hurting, Sam would rather avoid him than tell him what was going on. That needed to change.

"When is Dean coming home?" Sam murmured, as he slipped into the backseat of the Impala.

"Soon." John promised and Sam grinned, pain momentarily forgotten. John started the ignition and began to speed down the road towards the local hospital. One thought nagged him as he drove.

When had Dean become a better caretaker than John?

* * *

_May 5__th__, 2002_

"D'n?" Sam slurred as he tossed in the hospital bed. Jess grimaced, noticing how the monitors were beeping out warnings again. It was supposed to be just a normal cold—that's what Sam had told her it was—and now, Sam was lying in the hospital, hooked up to about 200 medicines that promised to lower his fever before his brain fried. "D'n."

She didn't know who "D'n" was. She and Sam had never discussed his family. Whenever it came up, Sam had just dismissed it with a shrug and the topic had been dropped. Now though . . .

"It's okay, Sam," She soothed, running a hand through his hair. His bangs clung to his forehead, drenched in sweat. While that was a reassuring sign, the fever refused to break, which worried, Jess more than she let on. "I've got you." Sam's response was to toss and turn once more.

"Sammy?" She spun around to see a man standing in the doorway. He was haggard in his appearance—his clothes disheveled, his hair askew, his eyes blood shot—and she wondered if he had been travelling for a long time.

"Are you Dean?" Now, she wasn't proud of this, but as soon as Sam had been admitted, Jessica had gone through his phone. She had attempted to call his father only to get a message saying the phone had been disconnected. The only other contact she hadn't recognized had been "D" and she had called and left a message. She had never received a response and figured that maybe Sam's family had abandoned him or something. "Well, are you?"

"Yeah," His eyes met her for the first time and it was as if he had forgotten that she was there. "What's wrong with him?" He came to stand by Sam's side and Jessica rose from her chair and offered it to him. He gripped Sam's hand within his own.

"High fever," She replied. "It just won't break. He was calling for you and I . . ." She wasn't sure what she had wanted.

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean swore and Jessica smiled as she saw Sam's head lean towards his brother. Sensing that she needed to give them their privacy, she left the room and headed back to her own room to get some rest and take a shower.

When she returned later that evening, Sam's fever had broken and Dean was gone.

She never told Sam what had occurred, but she always believed that it was his brother that had made Sam well.

* * *

_February 8__th__, 2007_

"Sam, you want some ice?" Bobby asked quietly as he glanced at the youngest Winchester sitting on the couch. He didn't respond and Bobby sighed. Being possessed could really do a number on you, but seeing Sam like this—silent and full of guilt—made Bobby almost wish for the possessed version of Sam. At least that one talked and didn't act like a zombie. "Sam?"

"No, thanks." He murmured. Dean was out, making sure it was safe for the two brothers to leave. Bobby hadn't gotten the full story, but apparently possessed Sam went and killed another hunter and now that hunter's friends were out looking for blood. Bobby wondered if Sam wanted to be found and killed by them. He grimaced as he realized that yes, Sam probably would.

"You gotta take something," Bobby attempted once more. "You're in pain."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." He cursed and Sam didn't deign to offer a response. "Look, Sam, it wasn't—"

"Bobby," He interjected sharply. "Stop." The front door opened and Dean bristled in, shaking a bit from the cold night air.

"Anything?" Bobby asked.

"They found a skin walker," Dean reported. "They're sure that it killed the hunter. So, we're good." He glanced at Sam and frowned. "How is he?"

"Not good," The gruff family friend reported. "He's feeling guilty as all hell."

"Yeah," Dean smirked. "That's Sam for you." The eldest Winchester stepped into the other room and turned off the TV. His youngest brother didn't do so much as flinch.

"What?" Sam whispered, sounding exhausted now.

"It wasn't your fault." Dean told him sharply.

"It was—"

"No," Dean interrupted, voice deadly. "You were possessed, Sam. What you did, it wasn't you—!"

"But it could be!" Sam shouted, rising from his seat, voice shaking. "God, Dean, I could've killed you tonight!"

"You didn't—"

"And what happens when I do go dark side, huh? What happens when it's me that's evil and not some demon?" Sam was dangerously on the verge of tears and Bobby wondered what exactly had happened tonight.

"That will never happen—" Dean swore.

"You promised Dad, Dean!" Sam yelled, a tear snaking down his cheek. "You have to do it—"

And then, Dean reached out and pulled his brother in a hug. Sam didn't resist and dissolved into tears in his older brother's arms. Bobby turned away, not willing to pry during a clearly vulnerable moment. He headed upstairs and wondered and resolved to do some research on how to prevent possessions in the long term.

The next morning, Sam was smiling again and Bobby knew that it was Dean that had managed to pull his brother out of his guilt.

* * *

_The Cage_

Time flowed differently here than on Earth. Sam had no idea how long he had been down here. All he knew was pain—the slow, torturous pain of Lucifer and the white-hot fury of Michael—and sometimes, Sam thought he would break. It was his penance to be here. He had doomed the world and now he was paying for his crime by suffering in eternal torture. There were never any breaks and Sam had forgotten was his skin looked like without it being covered in blood.

One thing kept him from losing his mind.

He pictured Dean, sitting on the hood of the Impala a beer in one hand and the other on Sam's shoulder as they both stared upwards at the starry sky. He saw Dean teaching him how to shoot and then boasting to Dad about how proud he was of his little brother. He watched in his mind's eye as Dean enjoyed his new life with Lisa. His brother was whole and alive—that gave Sam solace.

Dean kept him from falling to pieces.

* * *

_January 16__th__, 2013_

As the two of them drank beer as they watched TV, Sam felt a sense of peace wash over him. His life with Amelia was over and he knew that it was the right choice. He had loved Amelia, yes, but he had always felt like something was missing whenever he had been with her. It was better for to be with Don—at least he was safe.

He sneezed and Dean's eyes were instantly trained on him.

"You sick?" His older brother asked and Sam shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, when another sneeze cut him off. Dean smirked and rose from his seat before heading to his duffel. Fishing out two pills, he returned to Sam's side and handed his little brother the medicine. "Take it. Whenever you get sick, you always get a fever and if we catch it early, maybe you'll be good." Sam popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

And there, that was what he had missed in his life—he and his brother sitting in front of the TV, just enjoying each other's company. Amelia had saved him yes, but only Dean could put him back together again. Dean had once remarked that they were each other's Achilles' heels, but Sam knew better.

They were each other's saving grace.

"Nothing." Sam replied, letting his eyes return to the TV. Dean stared at him for a few more seconds, before finally following his gaze and returning to whatever crappy movie they were watching.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__And that's all! Thank you again so much for everything! Please review if you have a second. I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you again for your support! _


	40. Preview Chapter: Heat

_**Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! So, you're probably wondering what I'm doing since this story is finished. But as you might remember, I promised to write a sequel story where I accept more prompts. I'm pleased to announce that the next installment of this story will happen __**IN MAY! **__That's right—more prompts and more hurt Sam goodness will be coming your way very soon! I will post the first chapter (with some hurt Sam of my choosing) on April 30__th__! I think that story will be called "31 Days of Hurt Sam" though if anyone has a suggestion for a better title, I'm all ears. Also, I'm going to have a theme for this to help generate some prompts. The theme will be "summer" and all prompts must somehow involve summer in some form. My usual restrictions will be in place. Anyways, I hope you are guys are excited because I really am. I had so much fun writing with all your prompts! _

_ I will once again explain how prompts work and my rules, etc. once I post the story. This is just an update to all the people who have been wondering. And now, to get you excited, here's one more chapter of hurt Sam goodness. Please enjoy and I will see you again in May! This story is set in early season 1._

* * *

Summer always seemed to bring out the best in Dean and the worst in Sam.

Sam functioned best in winter for some odd reason. Maybe the cold gave him a clarity that seemed to help him focus on hunts more. It sure seemed like his little brother was always one step ahead of Dean during the winter, be it in research for a hunt, in sparring, or just plain pranks. Summer brought intense heat and Dean had noticed that too much sun exposure made his little brother a bit dizzy. As children, Dean had made sure to attack Sam with water balloons whenever they played outside and if he didn't have access to those, he would fill a cup full of ice water and toss it at Sam. His little brother would retaliate of course—Dean smiled fondly recalling some of their most intense battles in the backyard of whatever dilapidated house was serving as home—but Dean had been able to keep him cool and keep him out of danger.

He wasn't sure how his brother survived the heat at Stanford, but he wasn't about to ask. Stanford was still a touchy subject for his brother and only two months had passed since the demon killed Jessica. Sam was still grieving, even if he didn't just suddenly start crying anymore. He kept his feelings bottled up—just like a true Winchester, just like Dad had taught them, Dean thought with a frown—and he obsessively threw himself into whatever hunt they were focusing on. Dean was trying his best to break through Sam's defenses—gently teasing, forcing him to eat—but four years at Stanford had put new walls up that hadn't previously existed. He was slowly scaling those walls, but it was tedious and if he made a mistake, Sam shut down for the rest of the day.

Two steps forward, one step back—that was the routine was now when it came to Sam.

"Sam?" His little brother didn't even look up from the map he was so engrossed in.

"Yeah?" His eyes darted across the screen and his older brother noted with a frown that his sandwich was untouched beside him. Sam was skinny as it was and though he usually ate, if Dean let him, his little brother would neglect food entirely and focus all his energies on finding their father or the demon.

"Let's go out." It was a thought that hadn't occurred to him until that second. They were in Mississippi, the sun was out, birds were singing and Dean was sick of this room, of seeing his brother waste away before him.

"What?" Sam's confused gaze met his and Dean nodded to himself. Some fresh air was what they needed, for sure.

"C'mon, Sammy, you've been there all day—"

"But Dean," Dean wasn't having it. He walked over and pulled his brother up and pushed him towards the door. It was mid-afternoon and most of the humidity had passed by now. The heat wouldn't be too much that Sam would feel sick. If anything, his little brother was going to get sick from being cooped up in this room. "Dean—"

"Not up for discussion Sam," Dean told him forcefully because Sam needed this. He needed to get out and see that there was a world outside of demons and ghosts and other things that went bump in the night. "Let's go."

Then, they were out the door.

* * *

Sam was laughing—not fake laughing either, but with his full being.

Damn, it had been too long since he had seen a smile grace his brother's face. Sure, he had seen a few, but they were always tinged with regret and grief. Yet, here they were, walking on some trial in a park, the sun warming their skin and laughing at some stupid joke Dean had told.

It almost felt like things were back to the way they were pre-Stanford.

Almost.

He had lost track of how long they had been out here, but judging from the sun beginning to set in the sky, a few hours at least. They had been walking—jogging a bit too, after Sam boasted Dean couldn't beat him in a sprint—but now, they were just strolling, no destination in mind.

"And then, dude, you should've seen it—" Dean continued, chuckling as the memory appeared.

"I bet it was . . ." Sam's voice faded away and Dean stopped. Turning around, he faced his younger sibling, whose brow had furrowed in confusion. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" Something was wrong here. Was Sam paler or was that just a trick of the fading sun?

"Dean . . . why are you here?"

Sucker punch to the gut.

The older Winchester staggered back, unsure how to handle that. What was he talking about? Sam continued to stare at him, his brow furrowing even more as he tried to work out something. Memories of a younger Sam making that same expression while doing homework flashed before Dean's eyes.

"What do you mean, Sammy?" He asked, slowly, cautiously because maybe he had misunderstood something. Maybe the sun was getting to him—

Shit.

The sun. Dean had let himself lose track of time and now Sam had paid the price. They had been out here too long and Sam was functioning on an empty stomach. They had been running around and they didn't have any water and now Sam was wondering what was going on.

"I mean," Sam tilted his head to the side as he swayed on his feet and instantly, Dean was there, taking most of his little brother's weight. "I thought . . . Dean, you hate me, right? Like Dad does?"

_If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back._

Sam thought that because Dean hadn't called, that because they hadn't talked that he hated him?

"No, Sammy," His voice was raw as grief surged through him because Sam had thought—had honestly believed—that Dean hated him. "No, Sammy, I don't hate you."

"I wanted to call you," Sam continued, his head drooping onto Dean's shoulder and fuck, Sam's skin shouldn't be that hot. How the hell had he let this spiral so far out of control? This was supposed to make Sam happier, not get him killed. "Dean, I wanted to."

"I know, Sammy, I know." He helped guide his brother to a shady tree, putting him down gently. The shade wouldn't cure him, but it would help stop the sun exhaustion from getting worse. They hadn't any water, but Dean had seen a water fountain down the path. Question was, could he leave Sam when he was like this? His little brother was practically defenseless. Still, he couldn't stand here and do nothing. The Impala was too far for them to get to in Sam's condition. Best thing Dean could do now was make a makeshift cold compress and cool Sam's skin down. Kneeling by Sam, he removed his brother's shirt and grimaced at all the sweat on his chest.

This was so screwed up.

"Dean," Sam's hand darted out and grasped his older brother's. "Do you think . . . do you think Dad will want to see me? He told me to never come back—"

"Screw Dad, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, anger overwhelming him. "Who the hell tells their kid—their kid who got a fucking free ride into a private school—to leave and never come back?" Sam shrank back, eyes widening with fear and Dean cursed internally. Sam wasn't firing on all cylinders and he was taking too much time. First things first, get Sam cooled down. Then, get him to the Impala and then get out of here.

"Dean, I'm sorry." And all of a sudden, his brother was five years old again, apologizing for breaking Dean's favorite toy.

"No, Sam, I just got angry—"

"S'okay," Sam slurred and that spurred Dean into action. "Dean, my head hurts."

Headache—another sign of heat exhaustion.

Time to get moving.

"Yeah, I know, Sam, I've got you though," He balled Sam's shirt into his hands and glanced at the water fountain. "Sammy, I'll be right back, okay?" Sam nodded, if you could call that weak twitch that and Dean sprinted to the water fountain. The water was lukewarm, but it would serve his purposes well. Rushing back to Sam, he quickly, pressed the shirt on his face first.

"What—?"

"It's fine, Sammy," He assured his younger sibling. "You're fine. I'm gonna take care of you."

"Always do," Sam mumbled as his eyes lazily tracked Dean's movements. "Dean?"

"What, Sammy?" Honestly, Dean couldn't take much more of Sam's questions. They were slowly, but surely breaking his heart. Yeah, he had messed up when it came to the whole Stanford thing, but Sam was with him now. They had a chance to fix things, to erase all the horrible memories of that night that had divided their family.

"I missed you."

And damn it all if that didn't bring a smile to Dean's face.

"I missed you too, Sammy."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope that can tide you over until April 31__st__! Please look forward to that new story! Thanks! _


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